Omega Rising
by aliceinwonderbra
Summary: Faith's been in prison for four months when a large scale zombie outbreak occurs. It's the end of the world. Again. Set after a modified Season 4, with a Buffy/Faith pairing.
1. The Outbreak

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

Chapter 1: The Outbreak

I'm in the yard when it happens. That's the only reason I make it out alive. Probably the first lucky break I ever got in my life, and it figures my big streak of luck would begin in a prison exercise yard, surrounded by dozens of hungry zombies. The first indignant scream doesn't draw much attention. The guards here don't care if someone is shanking you in the ribs, unless you're one of the tweakers willing to bang a guard for some junk. So I don't pay any attention to it either, just finish my last rep and put down the dumbbells. But then there's a wave of shrieking, real panicked, and I stand up, half expecting to see a fight happening.

But it's not a fight. It looks like something out of a movie, and I freeze for a second before it starts clicking that this _is_ happening. Everywhere I look inmates and guards are clawing and ripping each other apart. Literally. Across the yard, people are down on the ground, while others hunch over them, pulling away chunks of skin and muscle and shit I can't even identify. Their backs rock like starving animals and I think for a second, _vampires?_ But the ones who can get back up are running too, grabbing anyone they can reach and sinking their teeth into them. _Jesus Christ._

Everyone's screaming, and my slayer instincts are freaking out so hard I can barely think. One of them, those things, grabs me and wrenches my arm up. The bitch is strong, but I'm stronger, and I yank back before she can get her teeth in me. She stumbles aside dumbly, reaching for me again and I shove her, _it_, away. More of them start shuffling toward me, realizing I'm one of the few left on my feet in the yard. I gotta get out of here. I try the doors going inside, but they're locked, and if the zombie on the other side trying to chew through the Plexiglas means anything, that's not a way out anyway.

Looks like my only choice is up and out. The walls around the yard gotta be 20 feet high, and it's not like I've been practicing my jumping skills in this shithole, but it's that or become a snack. I start at a run, dodging zombies and trying to get enough speed up to make it up the wall. I'm almost there when I hear a small voice call, "Help me! Please!"

I'd have to be crazy to stop. I ignore the cries and keep running. A group of zombies is kneeling on the ground, fighting over Carla, one of the girls in my block. Too late for Carla now. I leap as I reach them, pushing off the back of one of them, and I'm up, flying through the air, my palms outstretched and reaching… Amazingly, I make contact with the edge. I claw at it, desperate to hang on. The concrete digs into my knees as I jam my toes into the wall. I just gotta get a better grip. I take a chance and let go with one hand, reaching up further to grab the wide edge. There's no real place to grab, but slayer strength helps, and I haul my ass up there, collapsing on top. My heart's racing like it hasn't in months. The land in front of the prison is flat and empty. I look back the way I came, and it's a mass of moving, moaning zombies. Everyone is dead. Except one girl, crouching behind an overturned table. She's crying and staring right at me. She must be the one who called for help.

I should just go. I'm gonna get killed if I jump back down there. Plus it's not like she's an innocent. She's a convict. Probably a baby diddler, I tell myself, even though I know they don't keep them in my cellblock, so they're not in the yard now. I turn to leave. But I'll be damned if there isn't a little voice in my head telling me I gotta go back. My subconscious doesn't have to try that hard either. One little _what would Buffy do? _and I'm saying fuck it and jumping into the zombie horde.

My ankle turns funny when I land, and it hurts, but I'm on the move before the dead can reach me. It's not far to the table, but I gotta evade six of them before I reach it. They move slowly, like they don't know how to use their bodies anymore. I got the slayer speed working full throttle so even the ones who grab at me stumble off as I keep charging by. I throw myself behind the table with the crying chick. They're gonna be crawling back here in a second so we gotta move fast. "Hey," I say.

"Hi." She sniffles, peering around me for imminent zombie approach.

I skip the pleasantries. "So look, here's the plan. I'm gonna run out, and you stay right behind me. If one of them slows me down, run for a clear spot at the wall. I'm gonna boost you up."

"It's too tall," she protests, like she didn't just watch me jump it myself. She starts crying harder, huge fat tears dripping off her chin.

We do _not_ have time for this shit. "What's your name?"

"Kim," she manages in between gasping sobs.

I grab her wrist and squeeze it a little too hard so she looks at me. "Kim. I'm Faith."

She nods politely like we're meeting in a bar and not under a table in Zombie Nation.

"Stand up," I order her. "We're getting out of here. Now, when I say so, run."

I pop up from behind the table without waiting for a response. If this fish ain't gonna follow me, I'm not gonna stick around here and be dinner for Zombie Carla and the rest of them. I start moving, kicking anything that comes close enough to grab me. Kim's behind me, back to the wall, holding my shirt for dear life. The problem with these things is they don't have any reason to stop coming at you. Nothing I do seems to hurt them. They just get back up and try to bite. My new best friend screams my name and I see what used to be Doreen, one of our more decent guards, pulling Kim's neck toward her waiting jaws. My scissor kick snaps Doreen's head back, and the zombie falls. She doesn't get back up and I realize I broke her neck. So that's one way of getting rid of them. Kim's hands are yanking on my shirt hard enough to choke me, but I still fend off the next two coming at us. Only a couple more yards and we're home free. I think we're going to make it, but one of them falls forward onto me so suddenly that I can't evade her. She tackles me and we roll around on the ground. Thick globs of reddish brown drool fall from her mouth as she opens wide and comes at my face. Kim's screaming but I don't know what she's saying. I wanna puke when I have to grab the zombie's face, but I somehow keep it down. I twist her head until I hear a crack, and she slumps over on top of me.

Kim's getting hysterical now, as I shove the dead thing off me. "Get to the wall!" I howl, and she nods, running the final few yards as fast as she can. I shake my clothes out and tell my stomach not to heave, lurching after her.

It's like every deadhead in the yard is shuffling our way now, and they're almost here. I'm a good fighter, but I'm out of practice and these odds are insane. "Up!" I bark to Kim, crouching down and threading my fingers into a little step for her. She braces her hands on my shoulders and puts her right foot in my fingers. "I'm gonna throw you. Hard."

"Okay." She sniffles, watching them walking toward us with fear plain on her face.

"Kim," I say, and she looks down at me. "We got one shot at this. I'll get you up there. You just gotta hold on."

"Right," she agrees, trying to act brave.

I nod and brace myself. The first zombie grasps at my ankle as I shove my arms upward with every ounce of strength I have. The girl goes flying up, her hands stretched toward the sky. I don't have time see if she makes it, because I'm busy smashing my palm into the nose of the body pawing at my pant leg. She stumbles back and I look up. Kim's dangling by one hand, obviously on the verge of falling. I'm gonna have to jump straight up now; this area is too thick with the dead to take a running start. I turn to face the wall and crouch, ready to spring. A searing hot pain floods my leg and I kick out blindly. Another thing that used to be a guard tumbles backward. I kick off, using my feet to keep pushing off the wall as I jump upward. I barely grasp the top of the wall, a couple feet away from Kim, who starts screaming at me to help her. Her fingers are slipping. On the ground under us, the zombies are trying to climb the smooth concrete. Their horrible moans almost block out her shouting.

I yank myself up, skinning my palms. My knees are aching from the beating they've taken going up this wall twice. Scrambling across the concrete, I grab her wrist. "Give me your other hand."

"Pull me up," she begs. "Please pull me up!"

"I'm trying!" I growl. "Give me your damn hand."

She nods, and I can see the terror in her dark eyes. She swings her other arm up toward me, fighting gravity to reach my hand.

I grasp and miss. "Again!"

Tears stream down her face. Below her dangling feet, the dead have started climbing over each other, not caring they're smashing one another into the wall, trying to reach Kim.

"Come on!" I yell, trying to force her to focus. "Reach for me."

She takes a deep breath and contorts her body again, desperately reaching. I lean further over the edge, risking falling face first into the mass of frantic bodies. Our fingers touch, slip, and then I've got them again, and I'm dragging her up onto the wall. She hugs the top of the wall, and we both lay there for a minute, panting and trying to calm our racing heartbeats.

"Thanks," Kim wheezes finally.

"Yeah." I nod. "You ready to go down the other side?"

She looks more nervous, like she forgot we couldn't stay up here. "We have to jump?"

Gesturing around us, I raise my brows. "You see any other way down?"

Kim shakes her head.

"Alright, so, you ready?" We gotta get moving. For now, the way we have to go is clear. But who knows how long it's gonna take until the meat puppets down there get smart enough to figure out they can get out the doors.

"We should just stay here. Someone will come and get us."

I stare at her. Is this chick for real? "Like who?"

"Well, I'm sure some guards will see us and come help us down."

Let me get this straight… "You _wanna_ go back inside?"

"You want to be a fugitive?" Her chin tilts up.

"Ain't a matter of wanting to do it, princess." I don't bother softening the blow, because I gotta get out of here whether she's coming or not. "Everybody in that place is dead."

"What?" Kim starts to tremble. "No, they can't be."

Okay… This girl isn't all there. "I saw them," I jerk my thumb toward the yard, "inside. Believe me; nobody's coming to get us down."

She's starting to cry now.

"What?" I joke. "You gonna miss the warden?"

Licking her lips, she pulls her arms around her stomach. "My best friend was inside."

"Oh." Well, now I feel like a jackass. Still, it's better she finds the truth out now.

"Okay." Kim unfolds her arms and rubs her hands across her face. "How are we getting down then?"

I can probably take the jump, but she's a regular person. Gonna break a leg for sure with this kind of drop, but there aren't a lot of options. I get on my knees and position myself to start backing over the edge. "Get on my back."

"What?"

I roll my eyes. "Get on my back. I'm gonna hang on to the edge. You slide down my back as far as you can and then let go."

She's looking at me like I'm crazy.

"It's only about ten feet down then. You should be okay."

Kim's shaking her head. "You can't hold us both; we'll fall!"

I smirk. This girl could be from Sunnydale with the amount of repression she's doing. "You know a lot of people who can send you flying twenty feet up a wall?"

She shakes her head stupidly.

"So then what's the problem? Get on my back. I got you."

Kim puts her shaking hands on my shoulders and steps around behind me. Her legs squeeze around my hips, and she winds her arms around my neck.

"Hold on tight." I back up slowly, gripping the inside ledge. First one knee over the edge, digging into the outside of the wall, then the other. Kim's shaking like a leaf, holding on to me tightly. We're hanging now, and I dig my toes into the wall, trying to decrease the weight I'm holding on my hands. Moving my left hand first, I transition my grip to the outer ledge. This is as close as I can get her. "You gotta move down now."

"I can't." She's starting to cry again.

This is _not_ the time to tell me this. "The hell you can't," I growl. "Just move one arm."

I feel her grip loosen.

"Good. Now put your arm around my chest."

Kim does, her hand now gripping my left boob. "Sorry," she mutters.

"S'fine. Move your other arm."

She's getting the hang of it now. Her legs loosen and she's sliding down my thighs. Then her ass is at my feet and she freezes.

"Alright. You're doing good."

"Okay." She sniffles.

"Now, move your left leg… that's it… just try to brace your foot against the wall." Her movements are shaky and I'm afraid she's going to fall. "Hold on to me with your arms, okay? Move your other leg down."

Kim's panting now, her arms obviously not used to holding her entire body weight 15 feet in the air. The force of gravity pulls her down until she's barely holding on to my ankles. "You're bleeding," she calls up to me.

"Must have cut my leg." I forgot about that. "You're not too far up now," I assure her, even though I have no idea how far up she is. "Just gotta let go and land."

"That's it?" She asks incredulously.

"That's it."

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "Okay, I'm gonna let go."

"Right behind you," I promise.

Kim screams a little when she lets go and screams louder when she lands.

"Okay?" I shout down because I can't really turn to see.

"I-I think so!" She calls back, sounding surprised.

"Good, now move over. I'm coming down." I give her a few seconds to move, then I hope like hell I don't break something and let go of the wall.

I land on my feet, dropping my body into a crouch and rolling onto my side. My sore ankle aches, and I lay there for a moment. Kim scrambles over, trying to help me up. I wave her off. Gotta sit here for a minute. My hands are almost numb from the marathon hang session we just did up there, but the rest of my parts are in working order. She's crouching right next to me, looking around like zombies are gonna charge us at any moment. Which I guess they could. Even with the wall between us, I can still hear the thumps of the dead bodies trying to get to us. And the moaning all of them are making. My stomach lurches again.

I get to my feet, and Kim jumps up too, standing close to me. The prison's out in the middle of nowhere. Bumblefuck, California. Still, as long as we don't meet any of our new undead friends out here, we should be able to follow the roads out. I gotta get to Angel's place, see what he knows. For the moment it looks like I've got company.

We're at the back of the compound, so I start walking. Now that we're no longer in danger of being eaten or shattering our legs, I'm kind of freaking out. I've seen plenty of crazy shit in my time. Kakistos. Body swapping. Vampires with souls. Hell, my old boss turned into a giant snake. But this is on a whole other level. Those were demons. These were just people. People who I knew and lived with, becoming zombies. And it moved so fast. Within a minute of the first bite, they were back on their feet, trying to eat the person next to them. Their skin changing colors so they looked like giant bruises. And their eyes. Crazy bloodshot eyes with nothing left in them. I don't know what this is. But it's bad. I just hope it's only in the prison. Because if it's not… well, the world won't need slayers anymore. There won't be a world worth saving.

Kim grabs my arm as we round the corner to the front of the building. There's a car on top of what used to be the fence blocking the entrance driveway. The windshield's broken but you can see the blood smeared on the inside. More blood at the guard shack. It's easy to see what happened here. Someone who was already infected ran the gate and when the guards went out to help, they were bitten. Poor bastards. Probably never knew what hit 'em.

On the grass ahead of us, broken glass mingles with a lot of blood. Two stories up, there's a broken window. It must have been one of the offices. The rest have bars over them. "Do you think someone got out?" Kim's voice is hopeful.

"Someone or something." I shrug. I'm not gonna give her false hope. What are the chances it was her friend who made it out this way?

As soon as I say that, some more glass falls, landing on the shards on the ground. Fuck. Zombie in the window. Not that it knows enough to climb out… Fuck. Another one of them comes up behind the first and shoves. The zombie tumbles out, landing in a heap a few feet from us. It blinks slowly, like it's surprised. Then it sees us, and its bleary red eyes focus. It moans and the other one, now leaning from the window, moans back.

"Start moving," I mutter at Kim and she starts to jog away. The thing gets to its feet, its now broken arm dangling uselessly from its frame. Poor, pathetic bastard. I kick it as hard as I can in the temple and when it falls, I yank its neck toward me until it stops moving. Kim's at the dirt road waiting for me, and I make it over to her before I bend over and lose my breakfast.

"You okay?" She asks me.

"Five by five," I reply and start walking. We're not gonna reach Angel's place tonight. But we'll put some distance between us and this place, and we'll get to LA tomorrow. I hope to hell it's better there.

XXXXX

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	2. On the Road

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_We're not gonna reach Angel's place tonight. But we'll put some distance between us and this place and we'll get to LA tomorrow. I hope to hell it's better there._

Chapter 2: On the Road

We find a house that looks empty. The owners must have left in a hurry. The front door's hanging open, and when we get closer, I see dried streaks of blood on the steps. I haven't mentioned it to Kim, because that girl is barely hanging on by a thread as it is, but I know now that what happened at the prison didn't end there. It's not just the blood here. The fact that we haven't seen any people all day, even when we've been walking down main roads, is making me nervous. And being out here at night? Is making me _really_ nervous. Zombies are easy enough to get away from when it's just a couple of them. But you gotta see them coming.

If Kim notices the blood we walk past, she doesn't say anything about it. She's been quiet ever since the sun went down. I think she feels it too—the unease and the feeling that we're exposed out here. I pull the door shut behind us quietly and hold a finger up over my lips. Kim gives me a wide-eyed nod and clings to the back of my shirt as I do a silent sweep of the first floor. It's a zombie-free zone, and I shake her hand off. "Make sure all the doors and windows are locked," I tell her, "and _don't_ turn on any lights. I'm gonna check upstairs."

I head for the staircase without waiting for a response. The second floor splits with a bathroom straight ahead and a room to either side. I can see the entire bathroom from where I'm standing, so I pick the room on the right and slip inside. It's a kid's room, covered in toys and the kid's drawings. It seems empty, but I check in the closet and under the bed. All clear. I lock the window and pull down the shade. One room left. I creep across the hall and go into what looks like the parents' bedroom. Nice big bed I'm looking forward to crashing in (no zombies underneath) and a walk-in closet with a bunch of clothes that look like they'll fit me. I go over to the window and check the lock. I start to pull down the shade when I hear Kim's voice from downstairs ask, "Faith?"

I run for the door immediately. She said my name quietly, like I'm downstairs with her. But if I'm up here, something else's with her. I'm half way down the steps when I hear her scream from the kitchen. There's an answering moan. I clear the kitchen doorway to find Kim smashing the zombie in the face with a skillet she grabbed from the stove. It stumbles back momentarily, then lunges for her again. The skillet connects again, hard. Kim doesn't hesitate, slamming her weapon into the zombie's skull before it can get back up. She brings the pan down on the thing's head again and again, until it's lying in a heap on the floor and she's crying and screaming, "Just fucking die! Die!"

I step around the mangled corpse and take her wrists as she tries to raise the skillet over her head again. "It's okay," I tell her softly, pulling her fingers loose from the handle. "It's okay. It's dead." She lets go, and the pan clatters to the floor. Turning her body into mine, she grabs my shirt and starts sobbing. I'm slow to put my arms around her. After a couple months inside, you get real careful about people touching you. They're either trying to fuck you or just fuck you up. It feels like a million years ago since someone's just hugged me. "Alright," I mumble awkwardly, patting her shaking shoulders. "We're alright."

Kim pulls back, wiping her nose indelicately on her sleeve. "Right. I'm okay. Sorry."

I shrug. "S'cool." I kick the unmoving body on the floor. Looks dead for good this time. "We gotta get rid of this though. Get the door?"

Kim turns the two locks in the backdoor, opening it a crack and peering out. No undead in the immediate vicinity so she pulls it open, and I grab the thing's feet and drag it outside as fast as I can. I kick it off the back porch and hustle back inside. Locking the door behind me, I head for the stairs, with Kim at my heels.

She takes the shower first. Luckily, there's no window in the bathroom, so we can turn the light on. I close the closet door behind me and flick on the light. I'm pulling out anything that looks like it'll fit me or Kim. There's an old pair of hiking boots at the back but they're too big for me. I do find jeans, t-shirts, and some thermal shirts. At first, I just grab enough for us to wear now. But as much as I don't wanna think about it, Angel and his crew could be dead. Or they could be on the move. And if that's the case, we're gonna be walking for a while because I got nowhere else to go.

Kim knocks softly at the door, and I turn the light off before I open it. I can see fine in the darkness, so I grab her hand and put it on the light switch before I leave. This whole day's been bullshit, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to getting in this shower. It's been months since I've taken a shower without a bunch of dick-starved women scoping out my goodies. I've never been shy about my body, and for the most part I don't care if somebody's eye-fucking me. Hell, I spent like six months just trying to get Buffy to look at me like that. But it's different on the inside. There, it's not your choice. It's not attention you're getting 'cause you're all dolled up and looking to score. It's eyes on you every second of the day, every one of 'em wanting something from you. So when I step under the hot spray and pull the curtain back, I'm in heaven. I woke up this morning as a murderer looking at life inside, and now I'm standing in a shower in the middle of Zombie Nation. And I did the slayer thing, picked up some little lost fish and saved her from becoming an appetizer. Gotta say, I'm feeling alright, considering.

My leg's throbbing where the water's running over it, and I put my foot up on the wall to investigate the cut I got during our getaway. When I see it, I freeze. My calf is black and blue and right in the center is a definitely human bite mark. I drop the washcloth I'm holding. My decent mood is gone. I'm _bitten_. But I'm still me. What the hell does that mean? Poking at it with my fingers, I wince. It's really sore. But my slayer healing's working on it. The bite's already closing, now just a slight, scabby indent marks the place where each tooth ripped into my leg. But I'm freaking out now, and I practically leap out of the shower to ransack the bathroom for antiseptics. I find some antibacterial spray, yank the top off and dump the whole bottle over the wound. It only foams a little. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. They have Neosporin so I load it on my leg. Can't end up like Carla. Or Doreen. Please don't let me be a zombie. I don't wanna be a zombie. I realize my hands are shaking when I can't get the bandage over my bite. Fuck. Just _fuck_. I know I gotta calm down and get it together, but all I can think about now are their faces. Carla's screams as they all grabbed her, chewing on her arms and her face. Doreen's neck snapping back when I kicked her away from Kim. Shit. I've been trying so hard to fix my life. Doing my time even though every single night I think about how B's gonna die out there while I sit in a cell and count the cracks in the ceiling. I keep my head down. I don't get in fights. This isn't supposed to be me anymore. I don't hit people. I don't snap their necks.

It fucking scares me. How good it makes me feel to kill something. I know part of it's the slayer, but part of it's me, too. I like the rush. I like feeling tough and amazing and hard and dangerous. I don't know where I'm supposed to draw the lines. I can't do this. I'm not ready to be out. I can't be the slayer. It's the slayer's job to protect people from crazy shit. And I just sat there lifting weights when I heard the first scream. If I had any kind of slayer instinct, I would've looked up. I should have. Buffy would have. She always knows when something's not right. Like with that crazy bitch Post. Or the mayor. I always make the wrong choice. If I would have run to Carla, maybe she'd be here now with us. Instead, ugh, fuck! I punch the bathroom mirror so hard it not only shatters but I dent the wall behind it.

From down the hall I hear a little frightened squeak. And then Kim's voice, drifting closer, "Faith! Are you okay? What was that?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine," I yell back. I turn on the water in the sink and bend over to splash my face. It's okay. I'm fine. We just gotta get to Angel's. He'll know what to do. I just gotta hang on one more day.

Kim's wearing some new clothes, lying under the covers, when I get back. I go into the closet and put on some sweat pants and a t-shirt. When I slide into the other side of the bed, I can tell she's still awake. These people have some kind of fluffy mattress pad thing and I sink in so far it's like I'm lying in pudding. If the zombies break in while I'm in this bed, they'll probably just eat us both. It's dark in the bedroom and I start thinking about that bite on my leg again. I'm hoping it's a slayer thing, and we're just immune to infection from the zombies. Something to do with our wicked immune systems. But there's always the possibility that it's just taking me longer to get undead. In which case I could be ripping Kim's face off by morning.

"Do you think…" Kim's voice breaks through my thoughts. "I mean, is it safe to sleep?"

I think for a second and then slip out of bed. I close the bedroom door and shove the huge armoire in front of it. "There," I tell her, climbing back under the covers. "Might not keep 'em out but we'll hear them coming in enough time."

"Enough time for what?" She's nervous again.

"For you to get a frying pan and beat the hell outta them."

Kim's laugh is so loud and unexpected I almost jump out of my skin. We met eleven hours ago in the middle of hell, and now we're having a sleepover in some dead couple's bed. It's ridiculous but we are _alive,_ and it's so fucking incredible that I just start laughing too. We go on until we can hardly breathe and tears are leaking from our eyes.

"Goodnight," she whispers finally, sounding tired but calm, "and Faith… thank you."

"Welcome," I acknowledge. I try not to think about my leg, and it works long enough for me to fall asleep.

XXXXX

We've developed a system since we started walking this morning. Kim walks in front with me close behind. We don't talk if we don't have to. We don't know if the zombies can smell us or not, but in case they can't, we try to keep the attention we draw to a minimum. I found a couple of hiking packs in a downstairs closet this morning, and we're both carrying extra clothes, bottled water, and whatever food we found that we could cram in our packs. We're in the 'burbs now, and as much as it freaked me out walking down empty highways, it's worse walking down these little streets. Zombies could pop out of any place, really. The only good thing, and by good I mean _creepy_, is that they're usually making that fucking horrible noise, so we can hear if there's a group of them nearby.

We've walked for a few hours, and by the time the sun's beating down on us, I'm starving. There's a shopping center on the right, and I jerk my head in its general direction. Kim gets the point, and we head toward a little café that looks empty enough. The windows are broken, and there's probably no food left inside, but we just need a place to sit for a couple minutes, out of the open. I climb in through the destroyed window, stepping on sliced up banners advertising, "Try our blueberry pancakes!" and "Just like Mom's home cooking!" The dining area is empty, and the place is silent, so I motion Kim in. She climbs less gracefully though the window, the glass crunching under her borrowed boots. Before we go, I'll check the kitchen and see if looters cleaned it out. No harm in loading up on food while it's still available. We claim a table in the corner where I can keep an eye outside and on the door leading into the kitchen. Kim pulls out the peanut butter and quarter loaf of bread we snagged from the house.

"Shit," I mutter, talking for the first time in hours. "We forgot to grab—" I stop talking as Kim brandishes a couple butter knives from her bag with a pleased smile. She hands one to me, and we make our sandwiches in silence.

"So," she says, while chewing her first bite, "what'd you do?"

She hasn't been in long enough to know, it's not what you did, it's why you're there, because nobody in prison is guilty of anything. We're all wrongfully convicted. I chew, swallowing mechanically. "Killed a couple people."

Kim goggles at me for a second before she looks away. "Oh."

Yeah.

"Glad to be out?" She asks with just a touch of hysteria in her voice.

Once again I find myself questioning whether all the screws are firmly in place with her, but I nod menacingly. "_Real_ glad."

"Right." She forces a laugh and picks at her sandwich, pulling off another bite and then washing it down with some water.

"Worried now? Bet you didn't think you'd be on the road with a killer." I don't know why I'm pushing this. I don't _want_ her to be afraid of me. But maybe she should be. I was fine when I was locked up, but we're in the wild now. Anything can happen.

Kim's raises her eyes to mine, and I'm surprised by the conviction I see there. "No."

I chuckle. "Yeah? And why not?"

"Because you're not going to hurt me." She drops her gaze to her lap, hands reaching nervously to fix her short ponytail.

"You don't know what I'm gonna do."

"I think I do." Breaking off another piece of her sandwich, she pops it into her mouth. "You didn't have to come back for me in the yard. But you did."

"So?"

"So, you don't wanna hurt me."

I'm not sure this reasoning is all that smart, but whatever. I eat some of my sandwich and watch the empty parking lot outside. "What were you in for?" I ask finally.

Kim sighs. "We stole a car."

"Who's we?"

"My umm, my best friend and I."

Maybe I'm picking up tricks from my shrink, but I know by the way she says it that 'best friend' isn't what she means. "Your girlfriend," I correct.

She looks surprised. "No. I mean, not really." Sighing, "She's straight."

"Been there," I say, polishing off my sandwich. Thinking about blonde hair and cute little tits and getting stabbed in the gut.

"Really?" Kim's looking at me with more interest now.

"Yeah." And that's about enough of this conversation. "You good to walk again?"

"Shit!" She exclaims.

"Okay, chill. We can wait a few more minutes."

"No!" She's staring behind me. "Them!"

I look. Three of them standing there, not moaning like they usually are, just watching us with great interest. "Pack the stuff," I order, getting up and moving toward the center of the room. The zombies watch me go, and the first one starts shuffling toward me. That's good. One at a time is good. Ah, fuck. The second's walking at me too. The last one groans to itself and moves in Kim's direction. So it's gonna be the more aggressive approach then. I skirt the two coming my way and hop over the counter, looking for a weapon. Nothing. God fucking damn it.

"Urgh." One of them leans across the counter toward me, extending his dirty gray hand. Across the café, Kim is backing from her chair, thrusting it between her and the zombie. There's a cut out window overlooking the kitchen and I jump up so I can lean through it. I see a knife block and snatch two from it.

"Kim!" I scream across the café and the zombies all freeze momentarily, looking at me. Kim looks too, and I fling the larger one with expert precision. She flinches when it embeds itself in the wall beside her, but she shakes off the shock and pulls it free, holding it in front of her threateningly. I got my own problems with Ugly and Uglier, so I gotta hope she can take care of herself for a minute. My two have figured out they can climb over the counter. The zombies don't fight like your average demon so it doesn't make sense to really engage them. Instead I wait for the first to stumble off the counter. When he falls at my feet, I lay my boot on his neck, and bring the knife down hard, plunging it into the bottom of his head. _The professor groans as I pull the dagger out of his abdomen, my hands slick with blood. He slumps to his knees, and his mouth slackens. I wipe my hands down my thighs. He's never going to talk again. _The zombie is still under my boot. I shake my head. Get it together, Faith. His buddy's not gonna wait while you have a mental breakdown.

The other one is more graceful, and he arrives on his feet. He lurches forward fast, and my blade glances off his chin. His drooling mouth is almost at my neck so I'm forced to wrap my hands around his head to twist. His skin feels soft, swollen with pus and body gases trapped under his flesh. I yank the disgusting former human's face aside hard and he strains in my arms. Before I can break his neck, there's a squeak from Kim's corner. I look over to find her zombie decapitated and two men with swords standing next to her. My zombie struggles, trying to pull my fingers to his hungry mouth. I twist, letting him drop at my feet.

There are a few shambling shadows moving in the kitchen, but I got a worse feeling about what's happening out here. I vault over the counter, forcing my walk to a casual stride. Something uncoils in my stomach, something predatory that makes my muscles quiver.

"Nice kill," the one closest to Kim says, looking me up and down appreciatively.

I flick my eyes past him, take in the knife still clutched in Kim's trembling fingers. "Looks like lunch is over," I tell her. "Why don't you grab the bags and let's get out of here?"

She nods and takes a step in my direction. As she reaches for her backpack, the guy's fingers close over her wrist. Her brown eyes fly back to mine, obviously nervous. I let my gaze wander to the two armed men. The one holding Kim's arm is handsome, with dark hair and eyes. It's a shame I'm gonna have to break that pretty face.

"I'm gonna give you one chance," I offer, "to get your fucking hands off her." I know guys like this. They're all over the prison system. They get off on the power to make other people do whatever they want. They walk and talk like men, but they're animals. And the cage doors are wide open now.

He waggles his brow comically, and his friend, who is obviously more intelligent, laughs nervously. "That's not very friendly," dark eyes taunts. "I just saved your friend's life."

"Let's just go, Jeff," his friend cuts in nervously.

"You should listen to him," I say. "Let her go."

"Alright," He agrees before yanking Kim across his body and tossing her roughly into his surprised friend's arms. "You're more my type anyway." He crosses the distance between us quickly, pulling me flush against him.

"Yeah?" My fingers curl into a tight fist. What he doesn't get yet, because he's been in the cage too long, is that he's not the worst thing out here. He might be a wolf in a man suit; but I'm a fucking lion. "Well, you aren't mine." When my fist meets his face, he stumbles back, crashing into the table behind him. This guy isn't too bright I guess, because he gets back up, rubbing his jaw. I only hit him at half strength, but if he was smart, he'd have stayed down.

From the swinging door to the kitchen, the first of the dead emerges, gazing at us with glazed over bloodshot eyes. She shambles out as the leader in a group of six. We've gotta motor. I'm not liking these odds, and I'm sure as hell not relying on these two dickheads for back-up. I step over to where our packs are laying on the floor and scoop them up. Jeff reaches for my arm, and I casually whip his wrist back so hard it cracks. His scream galvanizes the zombies and they begin to make their way to us. Soon we'll be boxed in.

"Here." I shove Kim's pack into her arms and shrug mine fully on. The one guy is still whimpering about his wrist, and the other one's eyes are darting back and forth between the zombies and the exit. "Let's go," I say quietly, pushing Kim ahead of me toward the broken window.

Jeff uses his good arm to grab Kim's bag. She's dragged back, limbs flailing like a ragdoll. I do _not_ have time for this shit. A forceful tug rips Kim forward, and before he can try again, I spin, kicking him away from us. He falls into the crowd of zombies, and they immediately start grabbing at him. "No!" He shouts, struggling. "_Help_ me! You can't—" The rest of his sentence transforms into a wail as the first of the dead bites into his shoulder. The hoard lets out a communal thrilled moan as they each vie for a place at the buffet.

_Oh, God. Oh, God._ I did that. I threw him into those things. "Faith, c'mon." Kim's fingers are pulling at my sleeve. The other guy is already climbing out the window, not losing any sleep over his friend it seems. I'm still looking at the scene I just caused. I can't see his face anymore; the hoard has fallen on top of him. They hunch over him, moaning with frustration or delight, depending on whether they can sink their stained teeth into his still moving body. I can see one of his hands, still clawing at the dusty café floor. _Buffy's struggling with the vampire, but he's got his tie wrapped around her throat and he squeezes it tighter and tighter. Her eyes are huge with fear as he opens his mouth, leaning toward her neck. I could save her. Or I could let her die._ "Faith!" Kim screams in my ear, and I shake my head. Fuck.

"Yeah, go!" We run for the window. They aren't gonna be satisfied with that one body for long, and there'll be one more hungry zombie in a few minutes. We gotta get out of here.

Kim trips out ahead of me, almost faceplants, and then hauls ass across the parking lot. I can outrun her easily, but I keep pace with her, forcing her to run as hard as she can to keep up. The guy who got away is running too, and he waves at us to follow him. I'm tempted to flip him off, but his buddy's screaming seems to have alerted every zombie within hearing distance. We're almost at the road, and they're stumbling across the yards in front of the houses across the street. One roars in frustration from inside the screen door of a house before he rips through it and falls down the stairs.

We veer left, following the guy. "I've got a bike!" He shouts while we all keep running. He runs into the mouth of a narrow alley between two stores. "We parked right back here!"

"Wait!" I shout back. He's leading us into a space too small to get out of. If there are zombies on the other side, we'll get boxed in. Kim slows, looking back toward me.

"Come on!" He yells, already pulling the keys out of his pocket.

I step forward and take Kim's arm just as a door opens from one of the stores, and three zombies spill into the alley. Two more appear ahead of him, blocking the mouth of the alley.

"Look out!" Kim screams futilely. He turns to come back in our direction, but the other zombies are already reaching for him as they walk closer.

His terrified eyes meet mine. "Just run!" I order. Maybe he can make it through the two on other side without getting bitten.

"I can't!" He shrieks. He looks down at his hand and then back at me.

"No!" I say when I see what he's planning. "You gotta try! Just run past them!"

He nods, pulling himself closer to the wall of the alley as they close in. "I'll see you back there." He pitches the keys through the air and they land a couple yards from our feet.

Kim doesn't waste any time, just dives forward and scoops them up. The zombies who've been coming toward the parking lot are getting too close for comfort now. We're gonna be in the same situation as this dude if we don't move. There are a couple more doors leading into the two stores, and who knows what's on the other side, but we can't stay out here. I grab the closest one and yank it open, breaking the flimsy lock securing it. As I pull it shut again behind the two of us, I hear the first scream from the alley. We're on our own again.

XXXXX

We're on the highway again, trying to clear the last few miles to Los Angeles. The rumble of the bike draws everything dead toward us, but the good thing is that we're going so fast they can't bite us unless they manage to catch us and drag us off.

The road is blocked by crashed and abandoned cars. The sun's out, and everything is bright and surprisingly quiet. Kim's arms are threaded around my waist, her body tucked tight against my backpack. The wind flings my hair into her face and she laughs, forgetting for a moment where we are. If I concentrate on the feel of the bike thrumming under us, slim arms warm against my stomach, sunshine on my face, it's almost like we're normal. _I never went to prison. I saved up and bought this old bike. She's definitely seen better days, and she could use a little wash and wax. But she's mine. My girl sitting behind me, pressing her face into my neck, her thighs along my thighs. Blonde hair loose and wild._ But that's not real. Real is weaving the bike slowly around the dangling bumpers and the still smoldering burned out cars. It's the almost imperceptible tightening of Kim's grip on me when we drive by a pair of zombies sitting on the side of the road. They're both gnawing at opposite sides of a dead deer. Kim gags.

"You need me to stop?" I ask, eyeing the two nervously. I don't know where the hell we'll stop, but I'm not letting her puke in my hair either.

"No," she mutters, turning her face to the side, "just go."

We're still moving when the sun starts to go down. We didn't even stop to eat again because I've been trying to make it to LA tonight. My stomach rumbles in frustration. A peanut butter sandwich wasn't really enough to last me all day. We're gonna have to turn off soon and find a place to hole up. I don't wanna be out once it's dark and we can't see them coming. Even now, with the sun just beginning to set, more of the dead seem to be out. They stumble through the shadows, their bloated fingers reaching toward our arms and legs, trying to grab us.

Just when I think we can't go any further, we ease around a curve and I see it. The Los Angeles skyline. It's dark now so I'm guessing the electricity's already given out. Wonderful. We take the next exit. The ramp is even more jammed up than the freeway. More zombies too. Kim's breath comes out in an anxious hiss, and all her limbs press tighter into me, tucking us together as closely as she can.

One shoulder's clearer than the other, with only two smashed in cars and a few of the dead wandering around with that stupid blank look on their faces. I gun it, being less careful than before, but it pays off. One of their grappling hands lands on Kim's leg, and she screeches, but then we're flying past them and we've overshot the road at the bottom. The zombies are moaning, coming down the ramp after us, while more drag themselves down the street we've just crossed.

I try to cut back toward the road, and the bike tilts, spilling us both off. I hear Kim cry out as I land hard, sliding on my shoulder. Shit. I get up as fast I can, and she does the same, roughly scraping off gravel that's embedded itself in her cheek and palms.

"That way!" I gesture to our left, which still looks pretty clear of zombies. "Look for some place we can get in."

"What are you doing?" She shrieks back when she sees me backtracking toward our fallen bike and straight into the path of the shambling zombies. "Come on!"

"Just run!" I order her, yanking the bike upright and trying to start it up.

She sobs as she turns and runs away from me, giving wide leeway to a trio of dead men who look quite interested in her.

_Start, you fucker._ I turn the key again, but the engine just whines. The sound of unfeeling feet dragging slowly across the concrete behind me forces me to abandon my plan. I drop the bike again and take off after Kim, running as hard as I can.

I skirt the three zombies who are trying to catch up to Kim and they let out a frustrated moan. Just as I reach her back, shit goes from bad to worse. The dead have begun spilling from the stores lining the block. They're closing in on the street, and soon they'll be walking right in front of us.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Kim chants. All the stores are wrecked, their windows broken and doors hanging from their hinges. Even if there were no zombies inside waiting for us, we'd have no way of keeping the ones in the street out. The horde stumbles closer, forcing us to run on the sidewalk and avoid the groping arms of undead who haven't figured out how to escape the buildings yet. Kim screams as their swollen, rotting fingers snag our clothes.

They're everywhere. We stop running and draw back against a stretch of brick wall as they close in. I shove her behind me like it matters if they eat me first or not. I'm desperate, looking over their heads for any way we can get out of this. A few yards ahead, there's a narrow opening. Probably an alley. We're probably gonna get bitten on the way there, and even if we don't, they'll just follow us in… But it's something. Kim's fingers are threaded into my shirt, her trembling body pressed tight into mine. I gotta try something, if not for me at least for her.

I wheel and grab her wrist, keeping her between me and the wall. Yanking Kim after me, I charge forward. With no weapons I can only hold my arm out rigidly, bent at an angle and used as a makeshift battering ram. The first two zombies are knocked off balance, but the next grabs my arm and tries to yank it into his mouth. He bites down and gets a mouthful of jacket. I drag all three of us the last few feet to the mouth of the alley and shove Kim inside. I ram the heel of my now free hand into the zombie's forehead, dazing it so it's forced to let go. Behind him, the street is full of his kind, all of them salivating, moaning, and reaching their horrible hands toward the alley. And us.

"Kim!" I yell backwards, as she starts yanking on doors and cursing when she finds them locked.

"I'm trying!"

I'm trying too, trying to keep these bastards from entering the alley. I let my body fall into the familiar rhythm of combat. My fists and feet fly as if independent of me, pounding into their unfeeling flesh over and over again. My kneecaps bruise from ramming into their bloated stomachs, and my elbow aches from knocking into their skulls. I manage to keep them at bay for a few moments, but it's hard when your enemy is less concerned with engaging than he is with getting by you to the snack at the end of the street. The first of them stumbles by me, in search of an easier meal. I kick back the two directly in front of me and race past the fleeing zombie.

Kim's pounding on a pair of thick wooden doors. We've only got seconds until that zombie reaches us, and his buddies aren't far behind. I shove her away and throw myself into the door, full slayer strength. It groans and a crack appears. I pull back and throw myself forward again. Before I can connect, it's yanked open from the inside, and I go flying through, colliding with a chair and falling hard. The door slams shut again and Kim's on her knees next to me, helping me sit up.

She starts to say something but freezes when we hear a soft click.

A man stands behind us, leveling a shotgun at our faces. "Who the hell are you?"

XXXXX

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	3. Survivors

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_The door slams shut again and Kim's on her knees next to me, helping me sit up. _

_She starts to say something but freezes when we hear a soft click._

_A man stands behind us, leveling a shotgun at our faces. "Who the hell are you?"_

Chapter 3: Survivors

"I'll ask again." The man keeps the shotgun steady with his right arm as he wedges a chair back under the doorknob with his free hand. "Who the hell are you?"

Kim starts to say something, but a sideways glance from me shuts her up.

"Say something," the man barks. He takes a step closer and then another, fitting his finger into the trigger loop of his gun.

Unfortunately for him, he has no idea who he's dealing with, and my high kick knocks the barrel of the shotgun skyward before he even realizes my leg's moving. He lets out a startled cry as I move forward and wrench the gun from his hands. Pointing his weapon back at him, I take a step back, out of his reach.

We glare at one another for a tense moment. I don't like pointing this guy's gun at him. The way I see it, a man's got a right to defend himself, especially when his neighbors start trying to eat his face. But like it or not, Kim and I need a place to hole up, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna stand here with a gun in my face. I'm the slayer. Maybe the whole world's gone to hell, but there's at least one innocent who needs protecting. Alright, so Kim isn't exactly 'innocent' but she's alive and I'm gonna keep her that way. Until I die trying. "You gonna do anything stupid?"

He curls his lip in annoyance but shakes his head.

"Good." I let the barrel point to the floor. "I'm Faith."

"Kim," comes the quiet voice to my left.

The man stares me down for another minute and then grudgingly offers his name. "Cormac."

I don't know if that's his first or last, and I don't care. "You packin' any more heat, Mac?"

He nods. "'Nother shotgun under the bar."

"Can I trust you not to shoot me with it?"

A smirk fights its way free from his beard. "S'long as I can trust you to do the same."

XXXXX

Mac lets us into the small apartment above the bar. After locking the bedroom door, I shove the small dresser in front of it. I've still got one shotgun, but he's got the other. "I think he's okay," Kim offers, watching me move the furniture.

"Better safe than sorry."

"He let you keep the gun."

My eyebrow rises involuntarily. "Like he had a choice?"

Kim flushes. "He shared some of his food."

I smirk and shake my head. "How long were you inside?"

"Why?" She asks defensively.

"Not long, right?"

"Two months." Kim's chin juts outs as she crosses her arms.

I could have guessed that. She still thinks there's good in people—doesn't know enough to see that everybody's looking to take whatever they can from you. "It shows."

She turns her back without responding and begins pulling off her dirty clothes. Whatever then. Not like I'm looking for conversation. I'm lookin' for a little R&R and an early start toward Angel's place. I strip to my underwear and find a clean t-shirt in my pack. Kim climbs into the bed, turning her back to me.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake up abruptly when I hear the sounds of fast footsteps on the stairs. "Faith?" Kim asks groggily.

"Stay here," I mutter, sliding out of bed silently and reaching for the shotgun.

Wide-eyed, she watches me sliding the dresser away from the door. I tell her to lock the door behind me, and I listen for the click of the lock before I make my way silently down the hall. The moan comes again and I hear something moving in the other bedroom. I don't know how the dead could have gotten past Mac without me hearing something. But what else would be making that awful sound?

Reaching the door, I nudge it open with my toe and bring the shotgun up. Cormac looks over in alarm before he narrows his eyes at me. "You shouldn't be in here."

I keep the gun level and take in the scene. There's a man tied to the bed, moaning feebly. Our host stands over him, hands on his hips. "What the hell's going on?" I demand.

Cormac gestures toward his prisoner. "I found him like this downstairs yesterday." The man cries out again and my eyes shift to his face. I take a stumbling step back. _Wesley moans as I slide the shard of glass against his exposed chest. His wet eyes stare up at me through a haze of pain. The glass shard in my palm pulls away from his skin, leaving a thin red line in its wake. I lick my fingers and press them against the wound I made. Hissing, Wesley blinks back into focus. "Don't pass out on me now, Wes!" My grin stretches my face so hard it hurts._

"He's probably infected." Cormac's staring at me and I realize I've zoned out.

I feel nauseous. "He's not infected," I tell him, moving toward the bed.

"How would you know?" Cormac blocks my path as I reach for the restraint holding Wesley's left wrist.

It would be easy to move him out of my way, but I make myself pause. "Cause the infection happens too quick."

"He's got a bite."

"Show me."

Cormac turns and pulls back a hastily applied bandage on Wes's neck. Two deep punctures are visible in his ashen skin. Definitely a vampire.

"He's not infected," I say again, and this time push by him to reach for the rope securing Wesley to the bed.

"Then where the hell did he get that bite?" Cormac demands.

I flick my eyes to him, making sure he's not going for my gun while I move to free Wesley's left ankle. "Vampire."

He looks at me in surprise, then just says, "Okay."

"Okay? You're just gonna believe me?" I'm a little surprised. This guy doesn't look like he's hip to the demonic activity.

Cormac shrugs nonchalantly. "Heard a thing or two."

I've got other fish to fry at the moment, so I drop the conversation. I've got Wesley free, but he's not moving. I look at his face. The skin under his eyes is pale blue, and his eyelids flutter non-stop. "Has he said anything since you found him?"

"No." Cormac's retreated to the doorway, watching me suspiciously.

"Any idea what to do for somebody with severe blood loss?"

"Blood transfusion," he offers unhelpfully. Off my glare, he adds, "I've been giving him water."

"He can swallow?"

"Sometimes."

Wesley's skin is cool and clammy to the touch. "Get me some blankets."

Cormac nods and goes, taking his gun with him. I turn back to my former watcher. "Wesley? Can you hear me?"

If he can, he doesn't respond.

When Mac gets back, he hands me a bottle of pills. "Had an infection in my tooth a while back," he says gruffly, spreading a quilt over Wesley. "That bite doesn't look so good."

"He doesn't look up for swallowing these." I shake the bottle skeptically. The antibiotics are huge.

"Put them in a glass of water. Maybe they'll dissolve." I turn to see Kim standing in the doorway.

"Thought I told you to stay in the room."

She shrugs. "It didn't sound like you were being eaten."

Shaking my head, I toss her the pill bottle. "Go find some water then."

When we're alone again, I notice Cormac looking at me. "What?"

He inclines his head toward Wes. "You know him?"

I think for a moment. "I used to."

He nods as if it makes sense and shakes out another blanket. Together we spread it over the dying man in the bed.

XXXXX

Our second night of sleeping in Cormac's apartment doesn't go any smoother than the first. This time I wake up gradually to the sound of hushed voices from down the hall. Beside me, Kim sleeps peacefully, unbothered by noise. Slipping out of bed soundlessly, I step into my jeans and pull them up over my hips. The shotgun sits on the floor beside the bed, and I take it with me as I creep out of the room.

I crouch in the hall, trying to determine who's talking in the kitchen. There are two voices; one definitely Cormac and the other new.

Restraint's never been my strong suit, so I raise the shotgun and step through the doorway, immediately training the barrel on the room's inhabitants.

"What are you doing?" Cormac asks, flabbergasted.

His friend raises his hands non-threateningly, looking very nervous. At least that's what I take it to mean when I see his horns trembling. His red eyes are wide in his green face as he looks at my gun.

"What are you?" I ask the demon.

He bristles, starting to drop his hands. I cough, and he yanks them back to his original position. "I'm not a _what_, sweet cheeks. I'm a _who_. And you can call me The Host."

"The Host," I repeat. "Host of what?"

"A sweet little spot called Caritas." A faint smile crosses his wide red mouth. "Ever heard of it?"

"No," I respond, "but since we're making introductions, I'm Faith. The vampire slayer."

His horns tremble harder before he gets it under control. "Maybe I should be going."

"You don't have to go," Cormac protests, glaring at me. "Faith, put that down. Lorne wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Looks like it," I say sourly, but I do let the barrel dip. I'm not getting any major tingles in my spidey senses.

Seeing that I'm not going to shoot him in the face, the demon lights up like a Christmas tree. Literally. With his coloring, he looks like a Christmas tree. "Now that we're all friends, why don't you set your pins down over here, angel?" He pats the seat next to him. "I think I speak for all of us when I say, keep the fuzzy navels coming. After the week we've had, we deserve it."

I perk an eyebrow at Cormac, who shakes his head before getting up to rummage in a box of liquor bottles he's brought upstairs.

I take the proffered seat. "I figured the demons would at least be enjoying the end of the world as we know it."

"Not at all," Lorne assures me. "There are plenty of us peaceful types who had no desire to see humans wiped out like this."

"Wiped out," I repeat. "It's really everywhere then?"

Picking up his drink, The Host swirls it around for a moment. "What, no umbrellas?"

Cormac gets up with a sigh.

"Thanks," the demon accepts the umbrella his friend hands him. Answering my question, he says, "It's getting there."

"How do you know?" I guess I was still hoping this outbreak was going to stop somewhere.

"A good friend of mine is a Klorghan demon. Telepathic. The clan doesn't usually communicate with outsiders, but I used to date his sister, so he's got a soft spot for me."

I find this information a little surprising because The Host seems more like a catcher than a pitcher, but what do I know about demon dating habits? Maybe gay is the new straight or whatever.

"Anyway," Lorne sips from his drink, wincing a little at the sweetness, "he's based out in Iowa City, but from what he's heard, it's spreading fast."

"Shit," I mutter, swallowing my own sickly sweet drink.

"That about sums it up," The Host agrees.

Soft footsteps pad down the hall, and Kim pokes her head in. "Faith?"

"Yeah," I call back.

She makes her way over to us, staring at Lorne while trying to tame her wild hair into a ponytail. "Kim, meet The Host."

"Hi," she says unsurely, taking the seat next to me.

His green face splits into a wide smile. "Please to meet you, sugar plum. Wish it were happening under better circumstances."

"Get you a drink?" Cormac offers, before we all start thinking about the circumstances again.

"Sure," Kim agrees. "So how do you two know each other?"

"Small business owners association," Cormac supplies, rattling bottles around and concocting something new.

The Host nods in agreement. "We club owners have to stick together, even if Cormac's clientele do run a little on the scary side." The last part of his sentence is stage whispered from the corner of his mouth.

Cormac sets a fresh drink in front of each of us and shakes his head in a long-suffering way. "_My_ clientele is scary?"

"You know my patrons are as gentle as lambs," Lorne protests.

"Only because you put a spell on 'em to keep 'em that way."

I watch the two bickering back and forth for several minutes. How Cormac, who has the social graces of the Unibomber, struck up a friendship with the demonic chatterbox in front of me, I have no idea.

Kim seems enthralled with them, sipping her drink and smiling widely. It's probably good for her to relax a little. Our journey so far can be most accurately described as 'out of the frying pan and into the fire,' so I don't begrudge either of us a little breathing space. So little do I begrudge us, that four drinks later, we're still here and showing no signs of retiring for the night.

Lorne regales us with stories about some of his more exciting patrons. Cormac chimes in periodically to cast aspersions on the truth of these tales, but the tall demon marks an X on his backside and tells us, "It's all true, cross my heart!"

"His heart's in his butt," Kim whispers to me, giggling as she falls against my shoulder. Total lightweight.

"I see that," I agree, slipping an arm around her shoulders to steady her.

"Now, that's cute." Lorne bats his red eyelashes at us. "Isn't it, Cormac?"

"We're not really," I start to protest, but Kim's off in her little drunk world, and she starts humming loudly.

Her dancing is a little spastic, and I have to keep her from falling out of the chair. When I look back at The Host, my smile falters.

He's staring at Kim with a look of deep sadness and pity on his face.

"What?" I ask, looking back at her in concern. Her dancing is tragic and she's humming incredibly off key but not much else seems wrong.

"Nothing." The Host tears his eyes from Kim.

Weird.

"I think I better get the party animal here to bed," I say, feeling unsettled.

Lorne climbs to his feet as well. "I should be getting home."

Plucking Kim to her feet, I start walking her across the kitchen. Behind me, Lorne says his goodbyes to Cormac.

As I step into the hall, he speaks from right behind me. "Faith?"

"Yeah?" I turn to make eye contact.

He seems to struggle with his words for a moment. "Take care of her," he says finally.

"Sure," I agree. Even for a demon, this guy's kind of an odd duck. Calling a goodnight to Cormac, I maneuver my drunken charge down the hall to our room.

XXXXX

We spend the next three days waiting for a change in Wesley's condition. Cormac is back to his usual antisocial self, but I don't really mind, as long as we've got a place to stay. Not that we have much choice. You can't walk in the bar without hearing the dull scrape of fingernails along the walls. The alley, as far as we can tell, is still brimming with the dead. Everyone's hungry, and we've got the only snacks left in the area.

As the sun sets on the third day, Kim dangles her legs from the kitchen counter while she eats maraschino cherries from a jar. Cormac holds a small pot of baked beans over the little fire we've built in his kitchen trashcan. I'm stirring the last antibiotic into a glass of water when I hear a low cry. The cherry jar clatters from Kim's fingers onto the counter as she sits up straight. I head straight for the closed bedroom door.

Wesley's struggling to sit up, and his eyes widen in alarm when he sees me. He freezes, half sitting, half lying on the bed.

"Wesley." I tilt my head at him from the door.

"Faith," he responds, his voice carefully neutral.

I watch him finish pulling himself up. I don't move to help him. Doubt he'd appreciate the gesture. "You remember what happened to you?"

His fingers drift to the bandage on his throat. "I ran down an alley. The dead… they were following me. I saw a man."

"Vamp," I tell him, taking a step into the room.

Wesley blanches at my movement.

Holding the glass up, I step close enough to hand it to him. "It's water. We've been mixing antibiotics in it," I say when he peers suspiciously into the glass.

"We?" He considers for another moment before sipping the water.

I back toward the door. Seems like we're both more comfortable with distance between us. "Yeah." I wave my hand toward the hall. "We're in a bar. Guy who owns it pulled you in off the street after you were bit."

"And you?" Wesley seems convinced the water is safe to drink, and he takes a deep gulp before setting it on the bedside table with shaking fingers. "How did you get here?"

The way he's looking at me is making me feel guilty for leaving the pen, even though I know damned well I would have been zombie chow if I had stayed. "The infection, virus, whatever the hell it is, reached the prison. It was scale the wall or become dinner." I shrug. "Did what I had to do."

I hear footsteps in the hall and stand aside as Cormac and Kim crowd the doorway. "We brought some beans," Kim offers, looking at me.

I nod so she knows it's okay to approach. "Wes, this is Kim. She's with me."

Wesley's mouth tightens for a moment. With the way he's looking at her, I know exactly what he's thinking. She was in the prison so she's probably just like me. A hot flush floods my cheeks, and I step outside, leaving Mac to make his own introductions. Kim calls after me, but I'm already moving down the hall.

The look in Wesley's eyes reminded me all over again how not ready I am to be out in the real world. He's afraid of me. And he should be. I'm a killer. I'm evil. In the bedroom, I pull the solitary window open and peer outside. A few of the dead are stumbling around the street below, nothing I couldn't handle. I'm tempted to go for it, even though more would probably come as soon as I got into any heavy action. I'm on the ledge, ready to jump down before I manage to stop. I think about Angel. He believes in me. God knows why… But I know if I give up now, just jump into those zombies and go down fighting, he's gonna be disappointed in me. I can already see his broody look.

Instead of jumping down, I look up toward the roof. There's maybe three feet from the top of the window to the roof. Perfect. Hooking my fingers over the little lip at the top of the window, I swing my foot over to a protruding brick. A few fast movements and I'm standing on the roof, looking down at the mostly empty streets. Gulping down fresh air, I shake out my limbs. I just gotta burn off a little steam. Then I'll go back in and we'll make a plan. I can do this.

XXXXX

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	4. The Protectors

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_I'm standing on the roof, looking down at the mostly empty streets. Gulping down fresh air, I shake out my limbs. I just gotta burn off a little steam. Then I'll go back in and we'll make a plan. I can do this. _

Chapter 4: The Protectors

"That one?" I wrinkle my nose when I see where Wesley's pointing. Out of every abandoned car on this street, he's gotta pick the dinkiest one available.

He squints impatiently at me. "Do you see many cars that have a clear path?"

"Or ones that don't have dead guys in them?" Kim adds.

In the Ford F-250 next to me, two zombies press their noses eagerly against the passenger window. They haven't figured out how to get out yet, but instead gnaw fruitlessly against the glass. Streaks of thick brown blood are obscuring the view.

"Them?" My wave is dismissive. "It's just two of them, I can totally handle it. And look," I add cajolingly, "I'll even make Kim sit bitch."

Kim crosses her arms as Wesley gives me a disbelieving look. "As much as I'd love to ride the rest of the way with the smell of rotting corpse, we're going to take the other."

"That one," I say again, defeated now. Wesley nods curtly and leads the way to the oldest, ugliest Geo Metro in existence.

We've been picking our way slowly but surely through LA for the last three days, and Wes hasn't thawed one inch. He seems to like Kim okay. It's just me he can't stand. It's been really slow going, mostly because we aren't able to drive more than a few miles without hitting an impasse and going again on foot. Miraculously, we're all still alive and kicking. The city is pretty heavily overrun. We haven't come across any survivors. Some people must still be alive here, but they aren't out in the streets.

Luckily, we're traveling with an accomplished hot-wirer, so we don't have any issues getting transportation. Kim does her thing, and the jalopy Wes picked out sputters to life. She slips into the backseat, and Wesley meets my eyes over the roof. "Shall we?"

I slide into the passenger seat with a sigh. It turns out that he's a good wheel man. We've run down a dozen zombies, although we avoid it if we can because bodies can fuck up the car. And if you don't kill 'em, they might try to hold on.

We're chugging down an almost clear stretch of highway, the Geo rattling like it's got tin cans in the wheel wells, when he says, "I expect we'll make it to the Hyperion tonight."

I look over, surprised. "No shit?"

"What's the Hyperion?" Kim's interested face pokes between our seats.

"The hotel Angel lives in." I pull out the map. Yeah, if the road stays mostly clear, we should be getting there right around nightfall. As I place the map back in the console, Wes goes for the gear shifter. Our hands brush, and he jerks his away like he touched fire. "Sorry," I mutter, pulling mine back.

He shakes his head in acknowledgement and grabs the shifter. In the backseat, Kim rummages in her pack, pretending not to notice the tension between us. After a few moments of silence, Wesley clears his throat. "Are you planning to stick around? When we get to the Hyperion, I mean."

If this is his subtle way of letting me know my kind isn't welcome, somebody ought to tell him he's not being that subtle. I feel a muscle in my jaw tick as I clench my teeth. "Ain't exactly got any place to go." I gesture toward the median we're coasting along next to, and the recently deceased mother/daughter duo shambling ungracefully over it.

Nodding, Wesley keeps his eyes fixed carefully on the road. Ahead of us, a zombie manages to get his car door open and plops face first on to the road. Without so much as swerving, Wes guides the Geo's tire over the man's head. Impressed, I watch the limp body with the severely damaged head disappear in the side view mirror. "That's good then." Wesley's voice draws my attention. His eyes flick to me for just a moment. "I suspect we'll need a slayer on our side."

Too surprised to say anything, I just nod back and go back to zombie watching. It's not exactly a peace declaration, but it's more than I was expecting to get from Wes. Probably more than I deserve.

"What's for lunch today?" Wesley asks a moment later.

There's a flurry of movement from the backseat, and then Kim's cheerful voice answers, "Beefaroni or fruit cocktail. Our options are nearly limitless."

Where I come from, Beefaroni is good eatin', and I call dibs on that immediately. Shrugging, Kim hands it to me, along with our pilfered can opener. A whole can later and my stomach's still rumbling. We're off the highway, coasting down a relatively deserted surface street.

"Hey," Kim says, around a mouthful of pear slices, "I found a CD!"

"Pass it!" I reach my hand behind the seat. It's unlabeled, but I pop it in the CD player anyway. Kim leans forward, resting her forearm on my seat. There's a few seconds of silence, and then a gentle, whispering chorus fills the tinny speakers, _"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"_

My fingers start tapping the melancholy tune against my thigh. Kim's surprisingly clear voice sings softly, _"Because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low…"_

Wes joins in as Freddy Mercury starts really belting it out, _"MAMA, oooooooh, I don't want to die…"_

Now the two of them are singing full force, and the combined pitch would probably make any member of Queen denounce the song altogether. It's kind of infectious though. As the rock opera portion starts, I find myself joining in.

"_I see a little silhouetto of a man, scaramouche! Scaramouche! Will you do the Fandango?"_

Kim grins approvingly at me as we warble our way through the words. Lifting a hand from the wheel, Wesley starts air-conducting. Shrieking with laughter, my fellow convict adds air guitar to the mix. I pop the car lighter out and hold it up in approval.

"_Oooooooh bay-bay, can't do this to me bay-bay,"_ we sing at the top of our lungs. I'm laughing so hard that I almost don't see the girl. From the edge of my peripheral vision, I catch her reflection in the side view mirror. She darts from a side street, running behind the car, arms frantically pumping.

"Wes!" My voice booms over their singing, and both he and Kim immediately look at me. "Stop! There's someone back there!"

He jerks the car to a halt, and I shove my door open. The girl is screaming as she runs, "Please! Wait, please!"

I jog toward her, making shushing motions with my arms.

"Don't leave me!" Her voice is shrill, her eyes wide. She nearly plows into my arms, and only my slayer strength keeps us from falling.

"You gotta be quiet," I say as gently as possible, which is not very gentle at the moment, since her screaming has attracted quite a few of the dead.

Footsteps pound behind us, and then a winded Wesley peers at the small form huddled against my chest. "We need to get back to the car."

I disentangle the girl's arms from my torso, glancing toward the car. Kim leans halfway out the driver's door, her dark complexion unusually pale. "Come on," I say to our newest recruit. There'll be time for names and whatever later. Right now, the moans of a dozen zombies are quickly drawing more toward us.

The girl starts to nod and then glances at Wesley for the first time. "No!" She shrieks, ripping her wrist from my grasp. "No, no, no, NO!" Backing away, she's heading right into the zombies.

"Shut up," I hiss, as Wesley asks, "What's wrong?"

Her terrified eyes turn back to me. "He's infected! He's one of them!" She's still backing up, and I follow, trying to keep my movements nonthreatening.

Wesley raises a hand to the bandage on his neck and shakes his head. "It's alright. I'm not infected."

"LIAR!" She screams, turning. This crazy bitch is going to fall straight into the arms of the dead if I don't stop her. Leaping forward, I yank her back against me.

"He's _not_ infected and we _don't_ have time for this!" I drag her back toward the car, ignoring her screams.

But it's too late. Decaying bodies shamble across the road, cutting us off from the car. I let go of the still struggling girl. I'm not getting eaten because she's too stupid to realize we're trying to help her. "Keep moving!" Wesley shouts, trying to circle around the advancing horde. The group behind us presses in closer, and _now_ the stupid girl who's gonna get us killed is running with us.

We almost make it. We clear the zombies on the left, and I see Kim behind the wheel, her scared eyes trained on me. But another five tumble from a garage on the left, blocking our path. Wesley spins, shoving the girl behind him, and I move into the forward position, ready to shove through the group and hope for the best.

The first bloated fingers touch my sleeve, and I yank it away. Their moaning reaches a new pitch. "I'll make a hole," I shout to Wesley, "you just stay behind me."

Before I can plow forward, someone's huge chest blocks my line of vision. The clothing's black under the Kevlar vest. The dude's face is covered by a motorcycle helmet. Thick guards are strapped to every possible surface of his body. Four others like him surround us, elbowing zombies away. Behind our new friends, another two black clad figures are severely decimating the zombie population. A hatchet flies through the chaos, embedding itself firmly in the forehead of one unfortunate dead guy. Its owner follows, yanking it free and swinging it into the kneecap of a pursuing zombie in one smooth movement. The last team member wields a crowbar, smashing it into the face of any zombie who stumbles into her path. "Move out!" She shouts gleefully, and helmet-face starts herding us away from the action.

The girl from the road, oblivious to all the trouble she's caused, is thanking our saviors profusely, at full volume. Helmet-face all but drags her along.

"Faith!" Kim joins the group sprint, and I see the dead have overtaken our little car.

I shoot her a look, urging her not to talk too much. She doesn't realize it yet, but we're in even more danger now than we were before.

XXXXX

"Whew!" Crowbar shakes her hair out as we enter a windowless warehouse. "Everybody okay?"

Finally quiet, the girl from the street gives a dazed nod.

Wesley and I exchange glances. He drifts casually closer to Kim as I step out, keeping them between me and the wall. "Must be rough fighting the zombies for your dinner these days, huh?" My voice is filled with mock concern, a smile on my lips.

The people in black freeze for a moment. Crowbar laughs nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"The little snack bar you've set up here."

Glaring, the one with the hatchet steps forward. "Why don't you shut your fucking mouth before I throw you back out there with _them_?"

I shrug. Every muscle in my body is alive and tingling, feeling that familiar buzz in my brain.

"Carl," Helmet face intercedes, now sans helmet, "why don't you and Kate go check on our other guests?"

Hatchet curls his lip at me, and then turns on his heel, leaving us alone with the leader. Once the large room is empty, he dips his head almost cordially. "Slayer."

"Vampire." I smirk back.

He smiles. "There's no reason to make a scene here."

My eyebrow quirks. "Let me explain to you how this works. I'm the vampire slayer. I slay… vampires!"

"This vampire saved your ass out there."

"Yeah," I snort, "so you could eat it back here."

"I prefer the neck." His grin fades when no one else laughs at his joke. "Look," The vampire holds his palms up. "We're not eating anyone here."

_That's_ a new one. "You expect me to believe that?"

"You don't have to." He gestures to the door the other vamps disappeared through. "See for yourself."

I cast a glance at Wesley. His face gives nothing away. "You first," I tell our host.

He leads us through the door and onto a small landing that overlooks the bottom floor of the warehouse. It's divided into sections. One is clearly a kitchen, containing industrial shelves filled with canned goods. Another area has a few dozen cots and mattresses. A third makeshift room has couches and chairs. And everywhere, there are living people. A few kids are even playing board games in the living area. Almost everyone has a fresh bandage on one forearm or the other.

"This is what you call not eating anyone?" Wesley's voice is tight with anger.

"Hey," Helmet face pulls an "aw, shucks" face, "we've gotta sustain ourselves somehow."

"By leading survivors here. Like cattle for the slaughter."

The vamp drops his genial attitude. "Take a look around. The world's ended, man." He yanks the sleeve of his shirt up, exposing a forearm marred with human bites. "Those bastards will bite anything that moves, even if they don't like the taste." Shoving the sleeve back down, he continues, "The humans need us and we need the humans. It's mutually beneficial."

We glare at one another for a few minutes until Wesley takes a step closer to me, Kim close to his side. "Let's go."

"Go?" I ask, incredulously. "And leave these people here at the Old Transylvanian Buffet?"

"There's nothing we can do about it now," he whispers, although the vampire can hear every word.

Kim's fingers wrap around my bicep and she pulls me back. "Let's just get out of here," she pleads.

The vampire holds my eyes, his smirk firmly in place. "You're welcome to stay. But you know the price of admission."

I let Kim pull me toward the door after Wesley. "I'll be back for you," I say, every ounce of angry slayer in me channeled into those words.

His smirk widens to a grin. "I'm sure you will."

The door closes and locks behind us. Alone in the empty upper floor of the warehouse, we look at each other. No supplies. No car. And sunset's on the way. So much for that short trip to the Hyperion.

XXXXX

This will be the last "slow" chapter for quite a while. I know you guys are anxiously awaiting Buffy, and she's coming, very soon. Please hang in there just a bit longer.

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	5. The Prophecy

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_The door closes and locks behind us. Alone in the empty upper floor of the warehouse, we look at each other. No supplies. No car. And sunset's on the way. So much for that short trip to the Hyperion. _

Chapter 5: The Prophecy

If anyone out there isn't absolutely convinced that pollution and global warming and all that crap is a huge problem, a walk through the pitch black streets of LA with zombies ready to take a chunk outta them should be enough to convince them. There is no light here. No stars, no streetlamps now that the power grid is off. There's the barest hint of light from the moon, but it's not enough for Kim and Wes to really see. We're basically crawling along after the sun goes down. Kim is behind me, hands on my waist, while Wesley brings up the rear, clinging to her shirt. I got the slayer vision working for me, guiding us around burned out cars and other crap clogging the streets. It's a whole different world down here from the more rural area we passed coming from the prison. One block has mismatched sneakers strewn all over the street. Footlocker sits empty.

The panic down here must have been insane. Looters in all the stores, dropping their sneakers and TVs once they realized that the government had gotten it right for once. The apocalypse is here. Up ahead on the left, your friendly neighborhood Footlocker employee is on his knees. He picks up a sneaker and brings it to his drooling mouth. Biting ferociously, he shakes his face side to side and tears off a chunk of leather. He growls in disgust and spits the sneaker out. Dropping that shoe, he dives for another and repeats the routine. It would be pretty funny if the course of the wind didn't change at that exact moment. My hair ruffles, and I can smell the stale sweat coming off my companions. The zombie sits up slowly, the tongue of his latest attempted snack clenched between his teeth. He sniffs the air experimentally, and then his jaw springs open, and the sneaker thumps to the ground.

"Gotta move fast," I mutter before picking up speed. Wes and Kim shuffle after me, squinting in the darkness. The dead dude is climbing to his feet. His uniform is ripped to shreds, but as he stumbles into my path, I can still make out the name monogrammed there. "Need a minute!" I bark, and Kim's hands fall away from my hips. She and Wesley press back against one of the abandoned cars and let me do my thing.

"Let's go, Jamal," I say, and the zombie groans back. His arms extend toward me, fingers opening and closing desperately. My weapon at the moment is a length of pipe that used to belong to a traffic light. I step forward with my left foot, planting my right and cocking my pipe up like a bat. Jamal shambles forward, and I wait until his hands are almost on me before I swing as hard as I can. The pipe meets his skull, and the effect is instantaneous. His body slackens and drops to the concrete. Looking at his lifeless body, I feel a little sick to my stomach. Jamal was just a dude working at Footlocker. Maybe he had a baby at home. Maybe he was saving up money for college classes. He could have been anything. But now he's lying in this sneaker graveyard with a crushed skull.

"Best to keep moving." Wesley's voice is low. I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs and yank the pipe free of the zombie's head. Taking my position in front again, I lead the way into the dark.

XXXXX

Six blocks later, I'm on the ground with the worst breath I've ever smelled hitting me full in the face. I'm holding the owner of that breath by the throat, trying to get enough leverage to shove him off. His huge, clumsy hands are yanking my hair with all his might, trying to get my neck closer to his mouth. Somewhere nearby, I hear Kim's victorious little yelps as she and Wesley take on another.

One zombie I could handle. The problem is that I'm barely keeping another one from tearing my throat out at the same time. I've got that one pinned to the cement with my elbow on the side of his face, but I know that's not going to hold him for long. I'm struggling to hold them both off. Every move I run through my mind only ends with one of them biting me. It's a lose-lose situation.

Keeping my upper body taut, I try wiggling my knees up, under the thing's torso. Maybe I can flip his body backward, away from me. The zombie pinned under my left arm slides, _shit_, he's almost free! It's now or never so I inhale hard, ready to kick and then… he goes limp over me. I look up to see the razor sharp point of a dagger protruding from the dead guy's forehead. A pale, smiling face peers around the corpse. "Need a hand?"

"Angel." I greet nonchalantly, while using my now free hand to break the other zombie's neck.

"It's good to see you, Faith." He extends a hand and yanks me to my feet, directly into a tight hug.

I pull back after a moment, grinning like an idiot. I've never been so happy to see someone before in my life. "How did you find us?"

He gestures behind him to an idling truck. "We've been looking for survivors and supplies. You've got people with you?"

I step aside, and Angel peers back to the winded Wesley and Kim. "Wesley?" They do that thing that men do that passes for hugging. I'm grinning at our good luck when something catches my eye in the distance.

_Long blonde hair. Thin back._ My throat constricts painfully. The sounds of the group talking seem to fade away. Feet moving of their own volition, I step away. The figure in the distance turns her head slightly. _A flash of perfect, pale cheek._ My own heartbeat drums unevenly in my ears. Can it be her? I take another step, and then a warm hand encircles my wrist.

"Faith?" Kim's confused voice draws my attention. "Where are you going?" I glance back at her, standing in front of the equally perplexed Angel and Wesley.

My gaze swings back to where I saw _her_ a moment before. There's a woman alright, but she's moving now, definitely in a shambling way. That's not her. Of course it's not. _Jesus, Faith, get it together._

"Thought I saw something." I give them a casual shrug, gently pulling my arm free from Kim's grip. "It was nothing."

"Well, that's not nothing," Kim points ahead of me to a small group of the dead who are on the move toward us.

"Let's head back," Angel says, leading the way to the truck. Sitting in the back with a couple of guys, I rub my tired eyes, trying to erase the image of the girl from the street. Whoever she used to be, it wasn't Buffy Summers. She wasn't Buffy. And I'm okay. We're all okay. We found Angel, and we're safe now. Rinse, lather, repeat. Everything's going to be okay. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I'll start to believe it.

XXXXX

The good thing about using a hotel for your post apocalyptic headquarters is that everybody gets their own room. Mine is pretty fancy, although I'd be happy as hell with anything after the cell I've been in for the past couple months. The shower is cold, but at least there's still running water. I come out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around my goodies, and Cordelia's perched on the edge of my bed.

I stiffen. "Cordelia. Still among the living, huh?"

She gives me an icy smile in return. "And you are, too. Isn't that nice?"

Not willing to let her intimidate me, I move closer, so the bed is the only thing separating us. "Something you wanted?"

"Brought you some clothes." Sitting beside her on the bed is a small pile of clothes. It's not much but it's not covered in zombie bits, which is more than I can say for what I wore in.

"Thanks," I almost choke on the word. I know I did her wrong, punching her out and all that, but for some reason I can't bring myself to care too much. Cordelia's always been a bitch. I have no idea how Angel deals with her.

Nodding, she heads for the door. Cordelia pauses with her hand on the knob and turns back.

I raise my brow questioningly.

She sighs. "Wesley says I should give you a shot. That you're on our side."

He did? I know he stopped watching his back around me all the time, but I didn't think he really trusted me. "It's either be on Team Human or become a zombie, so…"

"Yeah." She stares at me for another moment. "Good night then."

After she leaves, I let my towel drop. I stand in front of the mirror and lift my leg. The bites have healed, but the skin around them is still discolored. At least by now I know I'm probably not going to become one of them. It must be a slayer thing. Accelerated healing makes us immune to the zombie bug.

I don't bother putting on clothes before I crawl into bed. If the dead come, I'll fight 'em naked. If I can do it with vamps, I can do it with zombies.

XXXXX

I bump into Kim coming out of my room in the morning.

"Hey." She looks relieved to see me.

I nod good morning. "You eat yet?" She hasn't, and we follow the sound of voices into the kitchen. I am full on starving. Hope Angel's been keeping the pantry stocked with more than O negative.

Angel is standing at the counter, talking to a couple people I've never met before. He notices our entrance and waves us in. "Kim, Faith, this is Gunn," he gestures to a handsome, bald man who looks me up and down with a smile, "and Anne." The small blond woman he points to smiles in greeting. Angel continues, "Anne runs a homeless shelter nearby."

We exchange greetings and help ourselves to some not quite fresh bagels and the last few oranges.

I hop onto the counter beside him and sink my teeth into a bagel. "Where's everybody?"

Just as I ask, Wesley strides in, carrying a fraying scroll under his arm. Cordelia trails after him, holding some extra candles.

"You got something?" Angel asks.

"Not very much, I'm afraid." Wesley unrolls the scroll carefully across the table. With the windows boarded up, only a little of the daylight has made its way into the kitchen. Cordelia lights extra candles to illuminate the scroll. As Wesley leans forward, the candlelight flickers across his face. His gaze flicks to me. "We discovered a prophecy just before the… event began. I was working on translating it, but unfortunately, as you know, I was a bit sidetracked."

Cordelia pats him comfortingly on the shoulder.

"Regardless, I've completed a very rough translation now. It foretells the end of mankind, when the dead will walk the earth."

"Information that would have been helpful before the salesclerk at Nordstrom's tried to eat me."

"Yes," Wesley agrees patiently, "thank you, Cordelia."

"Do we know what caused this?" Anne interjects, getting the conversation back on track.

"The prophecy doesn't specify." Wesley peers down, muttering as he reads, "Flesh-eaters will overrun the earth…The Omega will come… that's about it. The prophecy is either incomplete or extremely vague."

"Omega?" I ask.

"It means 'the end.'" Wesley looks over grimly. "This is the end of life as we know it. Our extinction event."

"Well, that's _bleak_." Kim laughs bitterly.

"Okay," Angel steps forward, sipping from a mug that reads 'Kiss the Vampire!' "I don't care about what that thing says. As long as we're alive, we've still got a shot."

His words bolster the mood in the room a little bit. "Do we know anything else?" Angel looks at Wesley.

Cordelia and Wesley exchange nervous glances.

"What?" Angel asks. "What is it?"

"Well," Cordy clears her throat and looks at Wes. He nods in support, and she squares her shoulders and meets Angel's eyes. "When this thing started, we were tracking the location of outbreaks. After Wes went missing, I kept up with it. I guess I was hoping it could be contained, or we'd at least get a sense of where might be safe…" She trails off, looking to Wesley.

"Spit it out, guys. What's the deal?" I hop off the counter, moving to stand beside Angel.

Wesley takes the lead. "As far as we can tell, the outbreak originated in Sunnydale."

Next to me, Angel's body goes rigid.

"Shit," I whisper. Kim shoots me a questioning glance, and I shake my head.

"I'm going." Angel announces, in a voice that leaves little room for argument.

"Angel," to her credit, Cordelia's voice is very gentle, "I have people there that I care about, too. But I don't think you understand what we're going into."

Angel goes to the counter and practically slams his mug into the sink.

"Angel," Wesley tries to argue, "be reasonable—"

"No," Angel growls fiercely. "You don't understand. She is the _only_ thing that matters to me. I'm going. Stay here if you want to. But I'm going."

His staff exchange worried glances as Angel storms from the room.

"Well, that went well." Wesley's voice is dry.

"You had to tell him," I reassure them. "He deserves to know."

"What's in Sunnydale?" Anne asks innocently.

Sighing, Cordelia tells her, "His soul mate."

_Buffy. _

XXXXX

Angel's shoving weapons into a bag when I nudge his door open with my toe. "You can't change my mind," he warns me without even looking up.

I lean against the doorframe, folding my arms across my chest. "Wouldn't think of it, big guy."

"I'm serious," Angel growls, zipping the bag closed.

"I know." I kick off the door, stepping into the room. "I'm going with you."

Surprised, Angel meets my eyes. "No."

"You need someone to watch your back," I remind him.

"This isn't your fight, Faith."

"Whole world's gone to hell. It's everybody's fight now."

Angel looks like he wants to keep arguing, so I change tactics. "You think it's gonna do B any good if you get yourself killed rushing down there?"

His eyes bore into mine for a long moment before he finally shakes his head.

"Glad that's settled," Gunn's cheerful voice interrupts us. He stands in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. "When do we leave?"

XXXXX

"Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?" Cordelia stands in front of the now unboarded exit, arms crossed in front of her.

"Cordy," Angel sighs, "I'm sure."

Tears shine in her eyes as she nods and steps aside. In the dark garage, Gunn is loading a bag of weapons into his truck while two of his crew keep guard with bats.

Wesley, Kim, and Anne are crowded into the hallway with us. I pass my knapsack to Angel, and he heads for the truck.

"Be safe," Wesley advises, offering his hand.

"In Sunnydale?" I joke, shaking it.

He smirks before stepping back to put his arm around Cordelia, who is wiping tears from her cheeks.

I turn to Kim, and she slips her arms around me. I feel a little guilty leaving her, but I know she'll be safe here. Well, as safe as you can be anywhere. She sniffles into my hair. "Hey," I rub her back a little awkwardly. "It's gonna be okay. I'll see you soon."

"Right." She pulls back, rubbing her hand under her nose quickly. "Of course. I know that." She forces a smile.

"Faith, you ready?" Angel appears back at my side.

"Yeah." Looking to Kim again, I flash her a grin. "Take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Sleep with a pan under your pillow, alright?"

She laughs, wiping a few escaping tears away. "I will." She lifts her hand like she'll touch me before she drops it to her side.

Bumping her with my elbow, I head for the door, leaving Angel to say his goodbyes.

Gunn tilts his chin at me in greeting as I walk up to the truck. "He coming?"

"Yeah, in a minute."

Heading for the passenger door, I hear footsteps rushing across the concrete toward me. I turn in time to catch Kim as she flings herself into my arms. Her hands sink into my hair, and she presses her mouth to mine. Surprised, I barely have time to respond before she slips out of my arms.

"What was that for?" I yell after her, as she jogs back to the open door.

"Good luck!" She calls over her shoulder.

I grin, opening the door and climbing in the cab.

Gunn gives me a knowing smirk.

"Shut up, man," I try to look ferocious.

He holds his palms up. "I'm just saying, I could use some good luck, too."

XXXXX

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	6. Hell, Population: Three More People

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_Gunn gives me a knowing smirk. _

"_Shut up, man," I try to look ferocious._

_He holds his palms up. "I'm just saying, I could use some good luck, too."_

Chapter 6: Hell, Population: Three More People

It seems like that kiss did give me some good luck because we see the off-ramp for Sunnydale just before midnight. Sure, a two-hour trip took five and a half hours, but we're all still alive and kicking, and so is Gunn's truck.

Just as Gunn steers us onto the ramp, our good luck runs out. Figures that that would be the case. Sunnydale never brought me anything but aggravation, why should now be any different? There's a loud pop, and then the truck starts pulling to the right. "Not now, baby," Gunn croons to the truck, but he slows to a stop anyway.

"Do you have a spare?" Angel asks, climbing out of the cab. I follow suit; I could use the air.

The passenger front tire is totally flat with a giant piece of shrapnel poking from it.

Gunn rummages in the back of the truck for his spare, and I walk toward the concrete side of the ramp. Peering over the side, I scan the horizon, looking for signs of life. No lights on in Sunnydale tonight. Abandoned cars line the opposing ramp. It's obvious there was a rush to get out of town. The street under us is quiet, no zombies in sight.

Something doesn't feel right. It shouldn't be this quiet. Behind me, Angel and Gunn speak in low voices as they start to change the tire.

"Let's make it fast," I say quietly, backing toward them.

Neither of them argues, they just move quicker. Standing in front of them, I scan the darkness carefully. There's nothing to see. Nothing on this ramp but us and empty cars. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the sounds around us and figure out what the issue is. I don't hear any animals. No fluttering of wings, not even a cricket chirping. And then… is that… the faint shuffle of feet on concrete?

I say, "Incoming," just as Gunn swears, dropping his wrench with a clang.

"I'm okay," he says, pulling his cut hand to his mouth.

Faster than I expected, the dead are falling up the ramp, dragging themselves past the stalled cars and right for us.

"Gunn!" Angel barks, moving to stand beside me.

"I know!" The other man shouts back, forgetting his wounded hand and frantically working on the tire.

I pluck two swords from the truck bed and toss one to Angel. We step forward to meet the zombies, swords slicing and dicing. Some of these bodies are familiar, and I try not to place their faces before I plunge my sword through their heads. We're fast; we can hold them back. This is totally doable.

A collective moan rises up, and I look past the truck. Another group shambles up the ramp toward us.

"I don't want to rush you or anything," I call, still twisting and dipping, my sword cutting down kneecaps and plunging through skulls, "but we've got like 30 seconds until we're dinner!"

"Almost done," Gunn's panicked voice reaches my ears over the moaning. Another dozen of the dead have joined the ranks on this side of the ramp.

"No time," Angel says, giving up on keeping the zombies at bay. He runs to the side of the ramp and peers down.

"We can make it," I say, ramming the butt of my weapon into the forehead of the zombie pawing at me.

Gunn sees what we're planning. "No way!"

"You see any other option?" I run to the truck, gathering our weapon bags and tossing them to Angel. He drops each off the ramp.

"But my truck!" Gunn practically tears up looking at his truck.

"Suit yourself, then." I fling the last bag over the wall and then leap casually over. An abandoned car breaks my fall. Luckily the owner's probably up on that ramp right now, so I don't have to worry about leaving my ass print in his hood.

"Gunn, move it!" Angel makes one last plea to his friend before he leaps off the ramp. His coat billows around him like fucking Dracula, and then he lands, rolling and leaping back to his feet neatly.

Gunn's frightened face peers over the side. "Knew it was a bad idea to hang with you," he yells to Angel, before glancing over his shoulder.

Moving under the ramp, I hold my arms up to him. "Come on, we'll catch you!"

He glares at me, hooking one leg over the concrete wall.

Angel joins me, both of us bracing to break Gunn's fall.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," Gunn's cry echoes as he plummets from the ramp and directly toward us.

We collapse in a heap under Gunn's weight.

"Everybody okay?" Angel asks and we all drag ourselves to our feet.

"Need a minute," Gunn groans, trying to flex each of his limbs.

"_You_ need a minute?" I croak, shoving his elbow off my solar plexus.

Angel clears his throat in alarm and we look up to see the first three zombies dropping off the ramp. "Move now, complain later," the vampire tells us as he scoops up several bags of our supplies.

Gunn and I stumble to our feet, collecting the remaining bags. Pressing my palm into the rib I'm pretty sure Gunn just broke, I jog after Angel. Fucking Sunnydale.

XXXXX

"Far be it for me to be the practical one here, but uh, do we have a plan?" Gunn's voice is low but reaches our ears easily. The three of us creep up the road leading into Sunnydale, clustered together along the divider line. Trees line either side of the road, and anything could be hiding in these woods. Now that we're here, my mind is just running through all the potential threats we could run in to. With the human population decimated, what's to stop the demons from overrunning this town?

"Make some headway into town, find a place to hole up over the next day," Angel responds, flicking his eyes over to Gunn and me. "Give our injuries time to heal."

Dropping the hand I've been holding to my ribs, I immediately protest, "I'm fine! We should keep going."

"Faith," Angel complains, as the dark outline of buildings starts to form in the distance, "how are you going to watch my back when you can hardly breathe?"

I glare at Gunn. "Well, if someone knew how to fall correctly, we wouldn't have any problems."

"Me? You two don't know how to catch!"

"Kids," Angel scolds, "if you can't get along, I'll turn this car around and head straight back to LA."

I flash my middle finger in the vampire's direction, and Gunn snickers.

"I saw that," Angel says, without turning around.

"You did not!"

"Omega, two o'clock," Gunn's warning cuts off all horseplay, and we watch a small group of the dead dragging themselves into the center of the street. And I do mean dragging. Not one of them has two fully functioning legs. If I had to guess, I'd say they've been run over by a really big truck.

I draw a long handle ax from the bag slung on my back as we stride up the street toward the group.

"I'm having a really bad day," Gunn grumbles as he imbeds his machete in the forehead of one of the nurses from Sunnydale General. "I just lost my truck thanks to some of your cousins. And I am _not_ in the mood for this."

In spite of the circumstances, I find myself laughing while I decapitate a zombie. A few feet ahead, Angel whirls, slicing the back of his zombie's knees and then bringing his sword through its neck as it falls.

"Did you lock the doors before we left?" I wheeze in mock concern, ignoring my shrieking ribs as I narrowly avoid the teeth coming at my neck.

"You know you can't get that smell out of the upholstery if they get in," Angel adds, waiting for Gunn and me to finish the last two of the group.

Gunn's machete sails through the air with expert precision, bringing an end to the moaning creature in front of him. He frowns at us. "That ain't right."

I'm wiping the blood from my ax when my ears prick. Angel and Gunn are talking quietly, picking up discarded weapon bags. I cock my head to the left, convinced I heard something else.

"Faith?" Angel calls, "You coming?"

"Yeah," I answer, slinging my bag onto my back. That's when I hear it, a small whimper. There's no path that I can see into the forest, but I'm positive someone's in there. Alive.

Without waiting for backup, I dart into the trees. I pause a few feet in, straining my hearing. There's a heartbeat close by. I move in its direction instinctively, ignoring the footfalls of my friends behind me. The whimper sounds again, and I stop in front of a giant tree. The bottom two feet of the tree is a mass of roots, tangled and knotted around one another. I drop to my belly, looking for an opening between them.

A pair of wide eyes blinks at me from a small hollow space.

"It's okay," I say softly. "You can come out now."

The person cries again, drawing further away.

"Hey," I murmur gently, "it's okay. They're gone; I promise."

The eyes move a little closer, so a hint of moonlight illuminates a small nose.

"That's right," I encourage. "Come on out."

A small form moves fully into the light and holds out a hand. I reach out, clasping the little hand and helping the kid climb out.

Angel and Gunn stand silently behind me as I kneel in front of the child. She's a tiny thing, no more than five or six years old. Her long dark hair is tangled, covering half her face. She shrinks away when I try to push her hair back.

"Okay," I placate her, dropping my hands. "What's your name, short stuff?"

She stares back, trembling quietly.

"I'm Faith," I offer and gesture to my friends. "These big goofs are Angel and Gunn."

The wind picks up and pricks her bare arms and legs. She must be freezing in her shorts and t-shirt.

"We're here to help," I tell the little girl. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Starla," she whispers, looking almost afraid of the sound coming from her mouth.

"Starla," I repeat, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile, "how did you end up out here?"

I pull off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. She grips it with her tiny, tan fingers and looks at me again. "The monsters came, and Daddy told me to run."

"Have you seen your Daddy again?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"Okay," I tell her, reaching out for her hand. "That's okay, Starla. We're gonna take you someplace safe, okay?"

She nods, and I climb to my feet.

"The Motor Inn's just up the street," Angel offers. Never thought I'd be back in that shithole, but it doesn't look like we got a whole lot of options.

"Right," I sigh. "You ready, Star?"

The little girl looks up at me, and her hair falls back, revealing the side of her face that's been hidden in shadow. An angry red bite starts on her cheek, disappearing into her hair. Her left eye is bloodshot, and the iris is colored the dull gray of the dead.

XXXXX

In the honeymoon suite of the Motor Inn, I close the door to the bedroom behind me. I cross to the bathroom, ignoring the hard stares of Angel and Gunn. The two of them sit side by side on the sofa, looking at me like disapproving parents.

"Faith," Angel begins, as I rummage in the cabinet for first aid supplies.

I know what he's going to say, and I'm not trying to hear it.

"She's infected," he reminds me, not caring that I'm not responding.

"But she's fine!" I hiss, drawing to a stop in front of them.

"For how long?" Gunn chimes in. "Sometimes it takes a little longer for them to turn, but they always do, in the end."

This is news to me, but I'm too furious to really process what he's saying. "You wanna go in there and do her?"

"No one's saying that," Angel interrupts, holding his hands up.

"Then what are you saying?"

"I just want to make sure we're facing facts here."

"Look," I sneer, "You're so gung ho to find Buffy that you can't spare a minute to help this kid, go do it." We glare at each other for a moment. "So much for helping the hopeless, huh?" I turn on my heel and go back into the bedroom, not waiting for his response.

Starla's mismatched eyes stare up at me as I sit down beside her on the bed. "I'm gonna clean that cut, okay, Star?"

She nods, her lower lip quivering as I press an antiseptic soaked washcloth to the bite on her cheek. The skin around the bite is a dusky blue, the edges of the bite turning purple and gray. It doesn't look good.

I plaster a bandage on with shaking fingers. It's like a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, and I fucking know it. I put on a cheerful voice and tell her, "All clean. You feel okay?"

"I feel hot," she murmurs back, and I notice the sheen of sweat around her hairline.

Pulling the blanket away from her, I tuck the sheet up to her chin. "That a little better?"

"Yeah."

"You try to get some sleep, kid, okay?"

Starla closes her eyes obediently, and I settle myself into the empty space beside her. She brings one small hand to her mouth and tucks her thumb between her lips. This is the thing that sends me over the edge. My eyes burn, and I find myself crying for the first time since all this started. As hopeless as it's seemed out there, it hasn't really hit me until now just how unbelievably _fucked_ we are. I've been fighting hard to stay alive, to keep Kim and Wes alive with me, and what's the point? What's the point of any of it? We all end up like this eventually—sucking our thumbs and waiting to die. Before, at least most people had a chance. Sure the world almost ended at least once a year, but somehow it always kept turning. Buffy kept it turning. But not this time. The human race is being hunted into extinction. And the real kicker—the cosmic fucking joke of it all—is that I'm immune. I got a front row ticket to the end of the world.

Starla's asleep now. I get up quietly and head back to the living room, closing the door behind me. Without a word to Angel or Gunn, I sprawl on the other sofa and close my eyes. I could use some sleep, too.

XXXXX

I wake up to the sound of stumbling footsteps making their way across the room. In the darkness, I see Starla's small body turning. I think she must be looking for me.

I stand up groggily. "Star?"

Her head turns in my direction, and she steps toward me.

"You okay?"

Her small hand reaches for me, and I take it, dropping into a crouch before her. Suddenly Angel's there, shoving me back and away. There is a sickening sound as Starla sinks her teeth into his arm. He kicks out, forcing her small body away from him. Stumbling backward, he trips over the coffee table and clips his head on the edge going down.

"Angel?" Gunn calls through the dark room.

"He's out cold," I reply.

"Shit." Gunn rummages in his bag, and the room illuminates in the glow of a flashlight.

I get back on my feet. "I've got her. You take care of him," I nod at Angel.

Grasping my ax quickly, I meet the little girl in the center of the room. She's back on her feet, trying to go toward Angel's prone form. "I'm sorry," I whisper sincerely. Then I bury the tip of my ax in her forehead and watch her small body drop to the ground. I sink to my knees, looking at her unmoving corpse.

Behind me, I hear some faint sniffling coming from Gunn. Taking another moment to collect myself, I turn back toward my friends.

Gunn crouches over Angel, a stake poised above his unmoving chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand.

"She got him," Gunn tells me, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "He's infected."

My mouth flops open like a trout, and I am literally speechless for a moment.

"He was a good man," Gunn says, seemingly working up the will to finish Angel off. "Well, not a man, but you know, a good guy anyway."

"Uh, Gunn," I begin.

"It's okay," Gunn shushes me. "I know he was your friend. I'll take care of it."

"No, that's not it—"

"Maybe you should wait in the other room," he offers.

"Gunn!"

"What?" He glances back at me.

"She's trying to tell you that I'm not infected," Angel interjects dryly from the floor.

Gunn swivels back to face Angel. "What?"

Angel shrugs. "Already dead, remember? I can't get infected by a human virus."

"Oh," Gunn says stupidly, letting his stake hand drop. "Well, that's great news!"

"Next time," Angel says sourly, "please wait until I'm definitely about to kill you before you break out the stakes, okay?"

"Right," Gunn nods, climbing to his feet.

"I'm touched by the tears, though," Angel adds, sitting up and pressing a hand to his injured head. "I didn't know you cared."

Gunn coughs, and the vampire lets the topic drop. He turns toward me. "Is Starla…"

"Yeah," I confirm. Angel has the good grace to pretend not to see the wetness shining in my eyes.

There's a knock at the door, and we all glance toward it, suspiciously.

"Zombies don't seem big on knocking, right?" Gunn asks.

"Right," I get up, striding over to the door. Whatever's on the other side can't be nearly as bad as what just happened in here. I blink away the traces of tears and hold my ax at the ready. Yanking the door open, I prepare to defend myself.

Her surprised face stares back at me, and she's holding her knife in a mirror image of mine. I stare in disbelief. "Buffy?"

XXXXX

Next chapter will be a slight departure from our normal proceedings… ;) I think you'll like it though.

Please let me know what you thought of this one! :)


	7. Genesis

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_I stare in disbelief. "Buffy?"_

Chapter 7: Genesis

There is only one being alive now that knows how all this began. He is Meletian of the tribe of Poj'daiya. This species of demon is not aggressive. On the contrary, they are so reclusive that, by the time Dr. Maggie Walsh captures one, they haven't been sighted in North America in almost 300 years. There was a time when those like Meletian were plentiful. But only eleven of the Poj'daiya remain in Fall 2000, and this is a spot of fortune that went unnoticed by humankind for most of its reign. Unfortunately for humanity, Dr. Walsh is a determined woman. She's been given wide leeway by the military officials overseeing the Sunnydale Initiative base. For months, she has labored on project 314, searching for the final piece to complete her masterpiece.

It is pure chance that leads Graham to spot Meletian while on routine patrol. Aware of the boon that such a creature would be to her project, Dr. Walsh orders him to be captured. Once in the Initiative compound, Meletian is immediately taken to the surgery suite. The members of the Poj'daiya tribe possess four eyes each, and Maggie thinks they would be quite a nice addition to her project. She calls this project Adam because that was the soldier's name in life, before he was killed by a demon the Initiative failed to control. She tells herself that Project 314 is her way of honoring Adam. She will preserve his life, one way or another. And if he comes out a little more demonic than he would have liked, well that's all right. She's giving him _advantages_—like these additional eyes.

What happens next she could not have predicted. How could she have? No credible information on the Poj'daiya tribe exists to reference. She knows only what the Initiative scientists can tell her. They measure electro-magnetic current. Skin acidity. Body temperature. Response to painful stimuli. Ability to communicate. All of which lead her to believe the demon can be safely sedated and his eyes harvested. From behind the glass, she watches as the doctor makes his first cut. Excitement blooms in her stomach. This turns to dismay as blood sprays from the wound, its upward angle causing it to fly at the face of Dr. Linus. The medical team jumps back in alarm, and a nurse begins carefully toweling the blood from his bare skin. By then, of course, it is too late.

The smallest drop of blood clings to Dr. Linus's eyelashes, dangling for a few seconds before slipping along the corner of his eye. Linus blinks, and the blood spreads, coating the fragile ocular membrane. The pain is immediate. Screaming, the man falls to the floor. The horrified nurses rush toward him, dropping to their knees. They try to pull his hands from his face because they can see his fingers digging _under_ the eye. Still hysterical, the doctor manages to pluck his eyeball from the socket. Maggie Walsh rushes from the observation gallery and into the room. "For God's sake, sedate him!"

Before anyone can react, the doctor shudders once and lies still on the floor.

"Paul?" Walsh cries shrilly, to no response. Turning furious eyes to the trembling medical staff, she demands, "What the hell just happened?"

The nurses shake their heads in stunned disbelief. On the floor at their feet, Dr. Linus twitches again, unnoticed by the crying staff and the infuriated Dr. Walsh.

Walsh turns to the older nurse. "Get Dr. Angleman. Now."

The nurse nods, running from the room.

Below them, Linus sits up, his remaining eye rolling up toward the two women. His right eye dangles limply against his chin. Unconcerned, the now deceased doctor grips it and tears it away from his face. The wet shredding sound of his extraocular muscles tearing from the gaping socket draws Maggie's attention. "Paul!" She exclaims, dropping to her knees beside him. "Oh my God."

Reaching for her, Dr. Linus tugs her closer. Unaware of the danger, Maggie goes willingly, her strong fingers holding his hands. "It's going to be okay, Paul."

The young nurse also stoops to their level, forcing herself to look at her supervisor's ruined face. "What can I do?" Her voice shakes.

"Get some gauze—" Dr. Walsh's last word becomes a shriek as Dr. Linus leans in close and sinks his teeth into her arm. Panicked, the nurse grips Dr. Walsh under her arms and yanks backward. Maggie's arm springs free, bleeding freely where the doctor has bitten a chunk from her forearm.

The zombie leaps after them, catching the nurse around the ankle and dragging her leg to his jaws before she can kick free. She cries out, kicking repeatedly against the impossibly strong hold he has on her. Beside her, Walsh, who had been intent on running from the room for help, finds her limbs losing coordination. Sobbing and screaming, she collapses to the cool tile. Her body falls into convulsions before she can put the pieces of the puzzle together. She never knows the hell she unleashed on earth, although it is difficult to say whether she would care if she did. What is certain is that she got exactly what she had hoped for with Project 314. Its legacy would linger on well after her death.

Hours later, Riley Finn makes his way across the campus. As he turns up the walk to Lowell House, he thinks he spots motion in his peripheral vision. He pauses, his eyes searching the tree line for any sign of disturbance. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he continues on his way.

Just out of sight, Meletian collapses against a tree. He grasps the still seeping cut on his forehead with one giant, four-fingered hand. His muscles are still weak from the sedation, but he ran to avoid being seen by the human. Poj'daiya do not have the kind of compassion humans are capable of, and he feels no sadness for the extensive loss of human life he's witnessed during his escape. Still, he knows he has made a mistake, leaving the caves and his mate, Jiteewa. He'd been captured and would probably be dead, were it not for the unique toxin in his bloodstream. Pulling himself upright, Meletian starts for home on shaky legs. He does not look back.

Inside Lowell House, Riley enters the access code to take the elevator to the Initiative. As the elevator descends, the young soldier smiles to himself. He is planning to meet his girlfriend for lunch. Things are going quite well with Buffy, he thinks. Still smiling, Riley looks up as the ding of the elevator announces his destination. The doors open.

XXXXX

On the final day of her life, Willow Rosenberg walks quickly across campus, mentally preparing for her first test of the semester. She's got the options for the essay question narrowed down to four topics, all of which she's confident she understands. Buffy's performance on the exam seems less certain, given that she's still in their room, trying to cram 10 extra minutes of studying in before sprinting across campus for class. So engrossed is Willow in her concern for her best friend, that she doesn't notice right away that someone has stepped into her path. It's only when a palm drops onto her shoulder that she looks up. Recognizing the face from her dorm, Willow asks, "Jason?"

Jason doesn't look good. His eyes are bloodshot and the skin around his lips has started to take on a blue tinge.

Alarm blooms in her mind seconds too late, and the thing that used to be her classmate sinks his teeth deep into the side of her neck. Blood spurts from her throat and coats Jason's face. The scent of it excites him and he gnaws harder, shredding the muscles that allow her to support her head.

She never has a chance to scream. Her books tumble to the ground, a few loose papers escaping and becoming coated with thick red drops of blood. Willow takes a final terrified breath as her limp body falls to the ground. The zombie follows his meal, hunching over her corpse and pulling at her wound with his blood-stained hands.

XXXXX

Tara doesn't know where she's going. Nowhere out here is safe, and her dorm is crawling with them. She's racing across the quad, darting past former classmates and teachers. Everywhere people are screaming, clawing at each other, starting to run only to collapse yards later. She sees a clear direction and runs, unconcerned where she's going except to get away. One of them shambles into her path, and she can't stop fast enough to avoid plowing into him. They go tumbling over one another, and she hits the ground hard on her left shoulder. Squealing in pain, she doesn't have time to move before he is on her. She struggles, trying to keep his mouth away from her skin, but it's a losing battle. Her arms are weakening, and he sinks closer and closer, his coppery breath making her nauseous.

Just when she can no longer hold him at bay, a firm foot strikes him in the temple, and he is propelled several feet away with the force of it. Buffy yanks her roughly to her feet and dusts her off. "Did he bite you?"

Dazed, Tara submits to Buffy's searching hands without response.

"Tara," Buffy's voice is commanding and she tries to focus, _"did he bite you?"_

"N-no," she manages to say before the slayer is pulling her along the campus, plowing down every screaming student and clutching zombie in her path.

They reach Buffy's dorm room, and she finds herself shoved inside. "Stay here!"

Tara nods quickly, and Buffy's eyes bore into hers. "I mean it. Don't leave. Don't open the door unless you hear my voice. And be as quiet as you can."

"I w-will."

"Tara," Buffy promises as she goes to the door, "I'll be back for you."

Then she's gone, and Tara flips the lock. Struggling, she drags the dresser over to block the door. Alone in the room, she crawls into Willow's bed and covers her ears with her hands. The sounds of screaming cannot be drowned out.

XXXXX

Crouched in his car, Giles surveys the path he would have to take to his front door. His neighbors, Ben and Clara, are crouched near his doorway. The two have managed to capture a cat and are fighting over its intestines, yanking fistfuls of gore to their mouths. To reach safety, he'd have to navigate past the two of them, get his key into the lock and get in, slamming the door behind him before any bites could occur. The other option is to steal through the courtyard, to his bedroom window, which faces the opposite side of the apartment. Of course, he doesn't know what may be in the courtyard. It could be teeming with the dead. After watching his former neighbors for another few moments, Giles steels himself. He's going to chance the bedroom window.

As quietly as possible, he opens his door and lowers himself into a crouch on the curb. Ben and Clara are still preoccupied. Giles remains hunched as he darts to the side courtyard, hoping for the best. He finds the little boy who used to live next door to him, who is recently deceased. The child looks up at him for a moment, and it almost looks alive, save for the strange tinge to its skin. Backing away, Giles decides he'll have to try for the front door. He has no weapons, but at least the other two won't be focused on him. He rounds the corner, his little neighbor stumbling after him, to find that Clara has picked up his scent. She's standing between him and his apartment, salivating heavily with bits of cat stuck to her jaw.

Before either of them can reach him, the door is yanked open. Spike barrels out, gleefully smashing Giles's antique letter opener into the back of Clara's skull. The zombie crumbles, and Giles wastes no time leaping over her and dashing inside.

"Sorry, little bit," Spike calls to the dead child shambling ever closer, "better luck next time!"

With that, he slams the front door in its face. He throws off the blanket he's wearing with a flourish.

Xander has thrown his arms around Giles's torso, hugging him for all he's worth. The watcher pats him gently on the back before he addresses the vampire who saved his life. "Thank you, Spike. That was well timed."

Dropping the bloody letter opener on the watcher's desk, Spike takes a seat in Giles's favorite chair. "I can't very well let you be eaten, Rupert. You're the bloody brains of this operation. Someone's got to figure out how to fix this thing."

Listening to the fingers of his dead neighbors scrape desperately at his front door, Giles thinks the situation might be beyond fixing.

XXXXX

It's dark by the time Buffy slips silently through the halls of her dorm. Her weapons bag is slung across her back, and she carries a short ax in her right hand. She quickly dispatches three of the dead who block her path to her room. At the door, she taps as lightly as she can and whispers, "Tara, it's me. Open up."

"Buffy?" Tara's timid voice is barely audible.

"Yeah, come on, we gotta motor."

There's a scuffle as Tara drags something heavy away from the door, and then she opens it and peers out. She already knows the answer to her question, but she has to ask anyway. "Did you… did you find Willow?"

Buffy's face falls, but she holds herself together. "I'm so sorry, Tara."

In her heart, she'd already believed her girlfriend was dead. But the confirmation hurts. Tears spring to her eyes, and she backs in to the dark bedroom.

Buffy follows, visually sweeping the hall before stepping in. "We really have to get out of here."

"I know." Tara snatches up her backpack and yanks it open. Rushing to the dresser that belonged to Willow, she reaches in the top drawer and shoves several bags of magic supplies into her bag. She opens the second and takes out a worn sweater that Willow loved to sleep in. That joins the herbs and candles. "Let's go," she says shakily.

Buffy nods and pokes her head from the room. Tara follows, stopping only to grab the framed photo of her and Willow from the desk closest to the door.

In the hall, Buffy hands her a crowbar. Tara looks at her fearfully. "The campus is crawling," Buffy whispers as they creep down the hall, "if something comes at you, just swing as hard as you can for the head. It's gotta be the head, okay?"

Tara nods, sticking close to the slayer's back. At the top of the stairs, Buffy knocks a zombie down the first flight and leaps after it. Landing gracefully, she plunges her ax through its forehead and retracts. Scurrying after her, Tara tries to stay out of the way as Buffy grapples with five more. One momentarily gets past her, and Tara swings the crowbar with all her might, connecting solidly with the dead coed's face. The zombie goes to its knees, its clawed fingers still trying to reach for her legs even as it falls. Swinging again, she connects, and the zombie goes down. This time is stays down.

"Nice," Buffy compliments, already leading the way toward the exit. They step into the darkness of the quad, and the door clicks softly behind them. Zombies are scattered everywhere, moaning pitifully as they sniff for fresh food sources. "Uh oh," Buffy mutters.

XXXXX

Buffy's ax soars through the air and imbeds itself in the face of the newly deceased Ben. His body falls next to the little neighbor boy and his dead wife. Xander has been watching through the privacy screen in Giles's door, and now he yanks it open for the two women to run through. Inside, they close the door and replace the three boards they've used to strengthen it.

"Buffy!" Giles draws her into his arms, and Xander quickly joins them. They huddle together for several long moments.

Spike draws up next to Tara. "Red?"

She just shakes her head dumbly. Xander breaks away from the group, sobbing now.

Blinking back tears, Giles looks down into his slayer's sorrowful face. "Were you able to get back to your house?"

Buffy manages to nod. "She… she wasn't there."

"It's alright," Giles says, holding her close again. "We'll find her."

XXXXX

As the sun sets on the third day after the outbreak, only twenty-seven humans remain alive in Sunnydale. They survive in pockets, emptying their pantries and stockpiling their weapons. Buffy Summers stands before one such pocket, an ax casually leaning on her shoulder. Almost everyone she knows is now dead, including her best friend and possibly her mother. Twelve people and a vampire are assembled in Meyer Sports and Tackle, all of them looking up at her with varying degrees of fear on their faces. Buffy's gaze falls on each of them for a moment before she takes a deep breath and says, "Everything's going to be okay."

XXXXX

Next up, what you've all been waiting for! B and F actually interact. :D

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought. :)


	8. Ground Zero

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_Twelve people and a vampire are assembled in Meyer Sports and Tackle, all of them looking up at her with varying degrees of fear on their faces. Buffy's gaze falls on each of them for a moment before she takes a deep breath and says, "Everything's going to be okay."_

Chapter 8: Ground Zero

"Faith?" Buffy gapes, looking at me suspiciously.

From behind me, Angel growls, "Spike?"

The blond vampire standing behind Buffy rolls his eyes heavenward. "The entire bloody world turns to shit and somehow this great poof is still alive?"

"Shut up, Spike," B and Angel both say. Angel nudges past me, meeting Buffy at the doorjamb. He snakes his arms around her waist, and her eyes close as she leans in to him. This makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, and I head back to the bedroom. My discarded jacket lies on the rumpled bed sheets, and I sit down heavily, closing my eyes. Only a few hours ago, Starla was alive in here. Just a little girl, scared and missing her dad. And now she's gone. I know realistically I have to expect this. We're talking about a zombie infestation that's taken over the whole country, if not the world. Not everyone I care about's gonna make it. I know that. I just didn't expect it to feel this bad.

Standing up, I strip the top sheet from the bed and gather it in my arms. In the living room, I cross to the crumpled body on the floor and gently cover her. Before I cover her face, I take a moment to close her little eyes.

When I settle beside Gunn on the sofa, he shoots me a sympathetic look. I don't know him, and I'm not about to start spilling my guts here, so I just fold my arms and lean back, the picture of nonchalance.

Apparently having grown tired of the Buffy and Angel show, Spike enters the room and comes to perch on the arm of the sofa closest to me. "So you're the other slayer," he greets chummily.

"And you're about to be dust if you don't take your eyes off my tits," I reply sourly.

Jerking his head up, he grins in mock apology. "Sorry, love."

"Another vamp with a soul?" Gunn asks me.

"No soul," I explain, "just a chip in his brain that doesn't let him bite people. Courtesy of Uncle Sam."

Spike doesn't appear to mind us talking about him. He's still watching me with a creepy look.

"Something you wanna say?" I ask with a barely concealed threat in my tone.

"Just thinking about the last time we met."

I flinch.

"I believe you said something about riding me at a gallop?" He licks his lips. "A man doesn't forget that sort of thing."

I stand up. I'm starting to get antsy trapped in here with Starla's body. I shoot Spike a dismissive look. "You're not a man and you can forget about it."

"I get it," Spike says agreeably, "did some time, right? I guess you're swinging the other way these days."

"Hopefully the less murderous way," B cuts in as she stomps over the threshold like she owns the place. "And shut up, Spike."

The vampire gives a long-suffering sigh.

"We better get moving," Buffy tells us, "we're seeing more action than usual tonight, and I don't wanna leave the gang unprotected for too long."

We gather up our weapons. Moving through the streets, I walk behind Gunn, trying not to think about the dead little girl. And trying not to care that Buffy hardly even looked at me.

XXXXX

Buffy leads us to the back door of one of the shops on Maple Court. She taps softly three times, and the door swings open. In the darkness of the room, Giles is on guard duty, holding a shotgun firmly in the crook of his arm. "Did you have much luck?" He asks quietly.

"Found some stragglers," Buffy gestures behind her, and the Watcher's surprised gaze goes from Angel, to Gunn, to me.

His eyes linger on my face for a moment before he says, "Right, let's get this door secure then."

I step aside so Buffy and Spike can wedge a heavy desk against the door. Satisfied that it's going to hold, Buffy heads toward the sales floor.

"How many people do you have here?" Angel asks as we walk.

"Nine," Giles responds and the inclines his head toward Spike, "plus him."

The vampire scowls. "This is the thanks I get for risking my life every night with blondie over there?"

"Which you only do because we include the blood bank on our 'to loot' list," Buffy says skeptically. She glances back at Angel. "Welcome to Casa Scooby."

The front window of the store has been boarded over. Sleeping bags are hung across the boards in an attempt to block any light from being seen. A few candles illuminate a small group of people. I'm surprised to see a kid with them. Buffy gestures to the two people closest to us. "These are Barrigan and Andrado." _Cops!_ I try to will myself to calm down; it's not like they can arrest me right now.

Oblivious to my discomfort, Buffy points to an older man with watery blue eyes, "Mr. Noble," and to the red headed woman next to him, "and Simone." "That's Jennie back there," she gestures to the little girl who isn't paying any attention to us.

Angel clears his throat, "Angel, Gunn, and Faith."

"Not to rain on the welcoming committee, Buff," a familiar voice interrupts, "but is it a good idea for her to be here?" I turn my head, catching the nervous look on Xander's face.

"She's here to help," Angel responds immediately, taking a step closer to my side.

"Isn't she supposed to be in prison?" Xander counters. "She wasn't exactly little Miss Helpful last time we saw her." Tara stands next to him, looking uncertain. I automatically glance behind them, looking for the redhead. I don't see her anywhere.

I look to B and I'm surprised to see her looking right back at me. She stares at me so long I have to struggle not to look away, and then she replies, "We can't exactly turn down a strong fighter right now. Not if we want to stay alive."

Xander looks like he wants to say more, but he clenches his jaw and looks away.

Buffy crosses her arms and says, "Let me show you where you can sleep."

XXXXX

Breakfast is a slice of stale bread I personally witnessed Tara cutting mold off of and the finest selection of freeze dried meals that Meyer's Sport and Tackle has to offer. I find an empty aisle of the store to eat in. Just me and the lacrosse sticks. Gunn's been welcomed with open arms by the Sunnydale crew, and I can't pretend it doesn't sting a little. I know we have a history, and I should be letting this roll off my back, but it's grating at my already raw nerves. Giles's nervous ticks when he has to interact with me; the way Buffy's eyes sweep past me without ever landing on my face. Red's girl did manage a small smile when she passed me the bread this morning, so I guess that's something. Being cooped up in this shop is starting to wear on me though. You'd think after months in a cell, I could cope with this, but given that my cellmate wasn't a tiny blonde slayer with anger flowing off her in waves, it was like a beach vacation compared to this.

"Mind some company?" Angel sits down beside me before I can respond. He cradles a mug of blood in his pale hands. He swirls it around like it's tea before taking a small sip.

"No good?" I ask when he grimaces.

"No," Angel's face is strained. "It's just that it's human."

_Oh._ Buffy mentioned the blood bank, but I hadn't put the pieces together. "You okay with that?"

"Do you mean am I going to be tempted to eat you all later tonight?" Angel smiles gently. "No, I think I can handle it. Desperate times…" He takes another sip before setting his mug on the shelf next to him. "What about you? How are you holding up?"

"Do ya mean am I going to be tempted to kill you all later tonight?"

My friend smirks. "Something like that."

I shrug and pick at the last bit of bread on my plate to keep my hands busy. "Like you said, desperate times. We all gotta do what we gotta do."

His large hand covers both mine, stilling them. "I know how you're feeling, Faith. This is a lot to handle, and it hasn't been that long since you started turning your life around." He squeezes my hands gently. "It's a whole new world. But I know you can handle this."

I want to tell him about the nightmares I still have and the flashbacks I've been getting since the infection broke out, but something holds me back. "You so sure of that?"

Angel pretends not to notice the way my voice wavers. "I've got faith."

A smile breaks over my teeth before I can stop it. "Comedy routine could use a little work."

The sound of a throat clearing makes us both look over. Buffy stands at the entrance to the aisle, her hair tucked into a neat bun. Her gaze is nothing short of murderous, trained on our linked hands. Noticing, Angel drops my hand quickly. "Buffy," he starts to say gently, but she just shakes her head quickly.

"I need to borrow Faith," she bites out, like the idea alone horrifies her.

_Me?_ "Me?"

"Do you see any other Faiths around?" Her voice has a hint of impatience now. "We need more supplies. Spike and I got a little sidetracked last night." She finally forces herself to meet my eyes. I notice hers are red-rimmed and a little swollen. "I'm the only one who goes out during the day. Figured you could help with that."

"Sure," I respond cautiously.

Angel's working his concerned face as he gazes between us. He's obviously as unsure about this as I am, but he settles for warning us to be careful.

"Always," Buffy replies without looking at him. She's clearly still bristling from seeing us together. Even though it's not at all like she thinks. "I'll get our stuff together. Meet me at the back entrance." Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and walks away.

"Guess I got plans," I joke, climbing to my feet and extending my hand to help Angel up.

He accepts, and I pull him to his feet. "Be careful out there, Faith, I mean it."

"B's not gonna do anything," I say, thinking that's the true reason behind his caution. "She's not like us."

"I don't think she'd hurt you intentionally," Angel agrees, "I'd just hate to see her… set you back. I know how important Buffy's forgiveness is to you."

I stare back at him without replying.

"That's why you wanted to come with me, isn't it?"

_Not exactly,_ but getting uncomfortably close to things I don't want to talk about with Angel. "I'll be fine," I reassure him, without answering his question.

"Okay," he drops it. "Then I'll see you when you get back."

He takes my breakfast dish with him when he goes. Time to face the music.

XXXXX

"This isn't up for discussion," Buffy's voice reaches my ears from within the storeroom. I'm ready to get this show on the road and headed back to meet her.

"I'm not saying, you know, throw her out to be zombie chow," Xander responds, and I freeze in my tracks. I slink back again the wall, wanting to hear the rest of this conversation. "Just… maybe a little more… not here. With us."

"Xander," Buffy sounds exasperated. "I'm not asking you to trust Faith. _I_ don't trust Faith. But in case you haven't noticed, we've got almost a dozen people trapped in here with very little fresh food and a town full of hungry zombies outside." She pauses, trying to make her voice more soothing. "We don't have a choice; she's a slayer."

"A slayer who murdered people. And worked with the Mayor. And stole your body. And tried to kill me."

In the intervening pause, I imagine Buffy nodding, reconsidering, and then coming out here to kick my ass and throw me to the wolves. I'm surprised when she just responds, "She turned herself in. Angel believes in her."

"So, that's it? Your ex-boyfriend sponsors her in Evil Anonymous, and we just welcome her back and sing Kumbaya around the camping stove?"

"No!" There's a thump as Buffy sets something down hard. "Look, all I'm saying is, right now, I have to believe that she's on our side. I'm not turning down anybody that's going to help us stay alive." She pauses, sniffling a bit. "I couldn't stand it if something happened to one of you guys. Not after Willow—"

"Don't," Xander pleads.

When Buffy speaks again, her voice is soft and strained. "Regardless of my personal feelings, or yours, Faith stays. End of story."

I press my back against the wall as Xander stomps from the storeroom. After he passes, I wait a moment before walking in to meet Buffy.

"You ready?" I ask quietly.

She shoots me a look, and we both know I heard every word of her conversation. "Yep." I catch the backpack she throws my way. "Let's do it."

XXXXX

Somehow the zombies seem less out of place in Sunnydale than they have anywhere else I've been. Here it's almost expected to see dead people stumbling up the streets. It's just like old times, Buffy and me fighting monsters and kicking ass. Except for the part where I can't stop thinking about them as people and feeling sick when I have to take one down. And the part where Buffy hates me. That part's not so different than old times, I guess.

We're wearing large hiking packs that, thanks to our shopping trip, are packed with canned goods, bottled water, and anything else we thought the group needed. I've got a pack of cards and a couple dinky little toys the 7-11 had on the shelf. Figure the kid, Jennie, needs something to entertain her. "We've got one more stop," Buffy's voice barely makes a sound, but I hear her clear as a bell.

I nod, raising my eyebrows in question.

"Hospital," she mutters back. "We're almost out of blood."

"Right."

She leads the way through the destroyed streets. It's obvious that Sunnydale was ground zero for this thing. It seems like no block was left untouched. Bullet holes riddle cars and the siding of many houses. The manicured lawns have cars abandoned on them, and festering dead bodies gaze out at us from their windows. The actual number of dead rushing us is manageable. We're very fast and very strong. Still, it's easy to get overpowered by the sheer number of them pressing in on you, so we move as quickly and quietly as we can. At the next corner, Buffy peers around a hedge, holding her hand up for me to stop. "Big crowd," she whispers.

"You wanna take another way?"

She gnaws on her lip thoughtfully. "This is the quickest." Her eyes dart further up the street we're on, noticing a small gaggle of corpses who've seen us and are proceeding hungrily in our direction. "And I don't wanna be out here too long."

"Alright," I agree, "we makin' a run for it?"

She nods, "Left looks clearer. Let's move."

Following her around the bend, I run straight behind her, trying to skirt the dozen or so zombies mingling in the middle of the street. We take on the first two that close in on us. Mine is a young girl. You can tell she used to be pretty. Her cloudy eyes are wide set, and she looks like she'd have a nice smile if half her lower lip weren't dangling by a scrap of skin. She blinks innocently at me even as her jaw opens and a long moan spills out. Apparently B isn't wasting any time thinking about who her zombie used to be, so I try to do likewise. I kick the girl's kneecaps and she stumbles, landing heavily on her knees.

In one fluid motion, I unsheathe the sword strapped to my pack and swing it over my head, embedding it easily in her skull. The moan warbles for a moment before she goes silent, the weight of her body freeing her from my sword as she slumps to the ground.

"Keep moving!" Buffy shouts at me, already jogging away from her neutralized opponent. The rest of the crowd pursues us, and their noise is bound to draw more. We hustle through the last couple of blocks, ducking behind an abandoned US Mail truck to catch our breath. The hospital is just across the street. From here on out, there's no cover, just us and the dead people milling across the hospital's front lawn. I lean my head against the truck's window and wait for Buffy to make her move.

Letting her set the pace seems like the best way of keeping things civil right now. She's not talking to me much, but at least there haven't been any threats or outbreaks of violence. Buffy takes a step out from the truck, turning to me expectantly. Instead of speaking though, she stifles a small smile.

"What?" I ask, just as a loud thump comes from the window behind me. I jump, letting out a shriek that can only be described at girly.

Buffy has the good grace to cover her chuckle with a cough. The recently deceased mailman inside the truck presses his palms flat against the window, peering out in despair. Poor thing looks like an animal in a zoo. Before I can stop myself, I press a hand against the glass, matching his palm. The zombie launches his mouth toward my hand, conking his head into the window and moaning his displeasure as he reels backward. Embarrassed, I pull my hand back to my side. "You ready to move?" I ask, pretending to adjust the straps to my pack.

"Yeah," Buffy responds, "let's go."

XXXXX

Inside the hospital, the air is stale, and the smell of rot is so strong that I almost retch. Buffy clenches her teeth for a moment, swallows, and says, "You'll get used to it." Trying to breath through my mouth, I follow her through the corridors.

"I was expecting more of them to be in here," I mention once I can breathe more freely.

Buffy shrugs. "We only found the dead when we came," she gestures toward a corpse sprawled on the ground nearby. His head is neatly cleaved in two, and thick globs of black and green bodily fluids have seeped from his torn flesh. "I'm sure there are more, though," she warns before adding softly under her breath, "there always are."

"We're here," B tells me, as we arrive at a set of doors. Aluminum mops are threaded through the handles, and she removes them before pushing through the double doors. The room feels cooler than the hall, and I realize there's a faint electric humming. I lay my hand on the surface of the first large refrigerator. "Still cold."

"The hospital had backup generators for some sections," Buffy informs me as she opens her backpack and starts gently placing bags of blood on top. "No telling how long they're going to last, but for now we've still got supplies."

"You guys checked out the pharmacy?"

"We haven't had time to really search for it." Buffy looks over at me as she zips her bag closed. "It's a good idea though."

My mouth momentarily falls open at her complimenting something I've thought of. I quickly snap my trap shut and zip my pack as well. "Wanna check it out now?"

Buffy agrees, and we re-bar the doors to the blood bank before we head back for the stairwell. "We haven't seen a pharmacy on the first or second floors," she explains. "Let's try the third."

As we step into the darkness of the stairwell, Buffy flicks on her flashlight. A faint moaning is echoing through the space. I think it's above us, although it's hard to tell. Not wasting any time, we head up the stairs. A few bodies block the way, and we're forced to climb over them. The smell is stronger in here. I figure the stairwells weren't air-conditioned much to begin with, so the bodies have been baking longer.

The hallway we step into is mostly clear. Right away I spot a sign for the pharmacy and point it out to B. She nods, gesturing for me to take the left side of the hall while she takes right. We go quietly in the direction the sign suggests, weapons at the ready and alert for danger. I move into the lead slightly, getting ready to take point as we turn down the next corridor. A clatter behind me breaks the silence, and I turn, expecting to see Buffy taking on a zombie.

Instead, she's gazing in a wide window, her ax dropped beside her. Her face is horror-stricken. "What is it?" I ask quietly, picking my way back over to her.

Buffy can't speak, she just points. I get close enough to see inside and _oh, God._ This was the nursery. I count nine small bodies inside. Five are obviously dead-dead. Their tiny limbs have been torn free, gaping chunks are missing from their torsos. Two lay on the ground with pools of dried blood under their heads. They've been tossed to the floor like trash when the zombies were done gnawing on them. What's worse is that the remaining infants are _moving_.

Buffy struggles to find words. "We should, we should do something."

All I know is that I don't want to go in that room. "They can't hurt anyone."

"We can't leave them like that," she insists.

I see what she's saying but at the same time, the thought of touching their dead bodies makes me nauseous.

"Fine," Buffy gives me a disdainful look, "you wait here. I'll take care of it."

She slowly picks up her discarded ax and enters the nursery. Buffy carefully steps over the first corpse and makes her way to the nearest crib. I watch as she brings a trembling hand to her face and covers her eyes for a moment. She pulls herself together and then hefts her ax above the crib.

"Wait!" I call, and through the glass Buffy hears me. Her hand stills, ax ready to meet its target.

Entering the room, I trace Buffy's path to the crib. Inside, the baby's arms flail. It's caked in blood, its skin ashen. It lets out a strangled cry. Toothless gums smack hungrily open and closed. It's the most horrible thing I've ever seen, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from losing it.

"We should get this finished," Buffy suggests grimly.

Noticing a stack of mostly clean sheets on the counter, I grab a few. The crib has a small card attached to the outside with neat handwriting. "Tina," I read aloud. "Her name was Tina." Buffy steps backward and gives me space to cover the poor creature with a folded sheet. I unsheathe my sword.

"You don't have to…" Buffy says quickly, but I can see the sadness in her face. I don't want to be doing this. I don't want to be killing any of these people. But it's like Angel said; it's a whole new world. And even if he doesn't quite understand why I came back to Sunnydale, he's right about one thing. I do want to make things right with Buffy. So I'll start here. I can do this much for her.

"S'ok," I tell her. "Why don't you cover the others?"

Buffy accepts the sheets and her fingers brush mine. "Thank you," she whispers, turning away from the crib.

Looking down at the writhing mass beneath the sheet, I take a deep breath. My sword cuts through the air, and I close my eyes just before it makes contact.

XXXXX

"Are you okay?" Buffy finally asks, after we've loaded up all the first aid supplies and useful medications we can carry.

"Five by five," I respond automatically. I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. They were already dead. It was the right thing to do.

Buffy steals a glance at me as we quietly exit the hospital. Pretending not to notice, I lead the way across the grounds. The sun's low in the sky, casting everything in an orange glow.

"Why'd you come back here, Faith?" Buffy's voice is neutral, just a hint of curiosity.

It should be the simplest question in the world. I came for her. Like I always do. The homecoming dance. Shooting Angel. Gunning for her after my coma. My whole life's been about her since we met, and she doesn't even get it. So I shrug and say, "I'm trying to do the right thing."

Buffy seems to accept that, and we walk in silence for a while, sticking close to the lengthening shadows and out of trouble. After a while, she murmurs, "I always thought I'd see you again. I just didn't think it would be like this."

She's thought about seeing me? "What did you think it would be like?"

"I don't know," Buffy's evasive. "I hoped it would be less apocalypse-y." She considers for a moment, then says, "Less stabby."

I guess that's the closest thing I'm getting to an apology for her almost killing me. "Yeah," I dodge the groping arms of a dead woman trapped in her car. "That woulda been nice." In the pen, I thought plenty about seeing Buffy again. I thought about her forgiving me and us slaying together. And okay, I thought about being in her body both literally and figuratively. But mostly I kept it PG13.

When we're at the back entrance to the shop, Buffy knocks softly against the door. "For what it's worth," she turns to me as the sounds of furniture being moved reach our ears. "I'm glad you came."

I'm taken aback and I can't answer for a moment. Finally, I just tell her, "Me too, B."

The door swings open, and Buffy steps through. I take one more glance at the setting sun. I had one of the worst moments of my life today. But somehow, I feel better than I have in months.

"Faith," Gunn pokes his head out the door, "You coming in or what?"

"Yeah," I step inside and close the door behind me.

XXXXX

When I was writing this chapter, my girlfriend looked over at it and said, "Oh my GOD, why are you writing that?" Zombie babies. Had to do it. I hope my dear friend Tina will forgive me for naming one after her. :D

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	9. Faith's Choice

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_The door swings open and Buffy steps through. I take one more glance at the setting sun. I had one of the worst moments of my life today. But somehow, I feel better than I have in months. _

"_Faith," Gunn pokes his head out the door, "You coming in or what?"_

"_Yeah," I step inside and close the door behind me. _

Chapter 9: Faith's Choice

Mr. Meyer, or whoever actually owned Meyer's Sports and Tackle, must have had a lot of free time on his hands. I find a stash of Penthouses in the back of the desk, tossed under some files. They're from last year, but I don't care. I've got hours to kill keeping watch in the storeroom. Angel and Spike are out tonight, looking for supplies, and I'm the lucky one who drew guard duty. These will be a nice distraction.

Propping my boots up on the desk, I start a casual flip through the first magazine. Dark hair, too tall, boobs too big, oh, a petite blonde. That'll do. I guess you could say I've got a type.

A quiet cough causes me to drop my feet to the floor, flinging the porn across the desk casually. "Hi," Tara says shyly. "I thought you could use some company."

Nodding to the other chair, I invite her to sit down. "Can't sleep?" It's actually only around 10pm, but there's not a lot to do in here after sundown. Mostly everyone's bedded down.

She shakes her head, taking the seat and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Tara doesn't say much, and that's just fine with me. I appreciate a quiet person—the kind that lets you do your own thinking without running their mouth all the time. She's peaceful. Exactly the type you want around you when you're a new resident in Zombie America. Not to mention that over the last three days, she's practically the only one who's talked to me.

The cops seem a little jittery. Maybe they can sense I've done time; I don't know. I'm in no rush to find out though. If my time in Sunnydale taught me anything, it's that the SDPD isn't exactly the cream of the police academy crop. I don't need these morons starting any crap with me. The others are nice enough—but quiet. I guess everybody's keeping their heads down right now.

Tara offers me some dried banana chips, and I gratefully accept them. We munch quietly on the snack. The silence doesn't bother me, but there's something I wanna say to her.

"I'm real sorry about Willow," I tell her.

Tara swallows hard and manages a small smile. "Thank you."

"I know I only saw you guys together that one time," I cringe a little bit, thinking of the body swap, "but I could tell she was happy."

Tara starts to cry, and I feel really bad. I shouldn't have brought this up. "I'm sorry," I say.

"No," Tara shakes her head. "Please don't be sorry. Th-that was sweet of you to say." She wipes her face with her palms. "She made me really happy too."

A quick series of knocks sound on the back door before I can respond. Tara and I exchange surprised looks. The vamps have only been gone a few hours. I wasn't expecting them back yet. Pushing the furniture away from the door, I flip the lock free and peer outside. A grinning Spike stands in front. "We hit the jackpot tonight!"

"What'd you get?" I cock a skeptical eyebrow.

"Come out and take a look," Angel calls quietly from behind him. "It's clear right now."

Motioning Tara out first, I step into the cool night air. Angel and Spike stand in front of a squat yellow bus, beaming proudly.

"You found a bus."

Angel nods, "And that's not all." He leads me to the back of the bus. The space behind the seats is packed full of bottled water. "There's more inside," he tells me. "Plus batteries, flashlights, first aid supplies, food, the works."

"Someone was prepared," I whistle.

"Their loss is our gain," Spike's smiling face appears above the packages of bottled water.

"Weapons?"

Spike nods, lifting his hand to display a shotgun. "Couple guns, some heavy tools we can use in a pinch."

"We've got most of these supplies already," Tara points out. "But it's always good to have more."

"It's even better to have transportation," Angel declares. My face must reflect my surprise because he adds, "We can't stay in Sunnydale forever."

I guess we can't, but I haven't given much thought to what our next move should be. The Dale's overrun with Omega, but isn't everywhere? Every place that had people living in it anyway. And the Mojave Desert doesn't sound too hospitable.

"Where is everybody?" I can hear hesitant footsteps coming through the storeroom. "Faith?"

"Out here, B," I call, and Buffy appears in the doorway, her hair and clothes rumpled from sleep.

"Is somebody hurt?" She asks, concerned.

"No," Angel responds quickly, "everyone's fine."

"Everything's more than fine." Spike clomps down the bus steps, joining our group. "Found us a ride."

Buffy's arms fold across her torso. I can see this isn't sitting well with her. "Where to?"

Angel's brow creases in confusion. "LA first. We need to pick up our people, and then we can figure out where to head."

"We can't just leave," Buffy argues, visibly upset.

Tara swoops in, placing a comforting arm around B's rigid shoulders. "Buffy, I'm sure Angel didn't mean right away."

"Actually," Angel cuts in, "I did." He looks at Buffy in concern. "Buffy, we can't stay here."

Before she can respond, a thin moan echoes down the alley.

"Let's move this inside," I suggest uneasily.

Tara and Buffy lead the way. Inside, Angel and Spike carefully reinforce the door.

Buffy wastes no time in reiterating her point. "I'm not leaving."

"Why not?" Spike demands. "We're living on borrowed time here. We all know that."

"We haven't found my mom," Buffy answers. Her voice is thick and low. "She could still be alive. I can't leave without her."

We all exchange pained glances. No one wants to be the one to state the obvious. Finally Angel steels himself. "Buffy," he says in his best gentle tone, "the odds of finding her alive now—"

She holds up her hands, cutting him off abruptly. "No," she insists. "She's smart. She'd know to hide and keep quiet."

"We haven't found her yet," Spike points out, not unkindly.

"We haven't been looking!" Buffy raises her voice before she pulls herself together. "I haven't been able to look for her like I've wanted to because I've been busy keeping our supplies up." Her eyes flick to me. "I was hoping with the extra help, I could really search."

"Is everything okay back here?" Giles stands in the doorway, drawn by the sound of our voices.

"We're having a disagreement," Angel sounds pissed. "We found a bus tonight. Fully stocked with supplies and ready to move."

"But I told him we're not going," Buffy adds firmly. "We're not done searching for survivors."

Running his hand over his tired face, Giles takes a seat.

"You agree with me, don't you, Giles?" Buffy's voice is pleading. She sounds all of seventeen years old. "She's still alive. I know she is."

For a moment, he doesn't respond. Then her watcher sighs heavily, raising his eyes to meet hers. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I think Angel is right."

Buffy's eyes are watery. Her mouth opens, but all that comes out is a startled, "Oh."

"This is a discussion we need to have with the whole group," Giles points out. "We don't need to decide tonight. Let's all sleep on it and pick it up in the morning."

Angel and Spike exchange peeved glances but nod in agreement.

"Fine," Buffy bites out, clearly upset that Giles doesn't want to stay. She walks out of the storeroom without wishing anyone goodnight. Tara looks torn but goes after her.

Giles sighs heavily.

"You made the right call," Angel tells him.

"That must be why it feels so good," Giles mutters, climbing to his feet.

"We're going back out," Spike says, once the watcher leaves. "Need to stock up on blood if we're getting out of dodge."

I help clear the doorway and then carefully box myself back in once they're gone. I pluck the old Penthouse back up from the desk and settle in for a while. Nobody's coming to relieve me for a couple hours, and this showdown tomorrow ain't gonna be pretty. Might as well get a little R and R while I can.

XXXXX

"I can't believe we're really arguing about this," Angel's voice is exasperated. The whole group of us is gathered around a particularly nice patio furniture set, trying to hash things out. The fact is, most of the people I give a damn about are already in this room, so I don't have much to say about whether we stay or go at this point. I'm snacking on trail mix, reclining on the loveseat next to Tara, just watching the debate. Buffy and Angel do most of the talking, the rest of us glance back and forth like enthralled viewers at a tennis match.

"Buffy's right," one of the cops—Barrigan, I think—pipes up. He turns to his partner. "We made a commitment to the town. We gotta make sure we've found as many survivors as we can."

"Barr," Andrado protests, looking wrecked from all this arguing, "look around you! The town is dead. If we don't get out of here, there's not gonna be _any_ survivors."

I zone out a bit as they start bickering. Without any conscious decision, my eyes find their way to Buffy. She leans her butt against the tabletop, arms folded in front of her chest, fingers knotted in the cuffs of her shirt. We're all wearing clothes from the store. I never thought camo was particularly flattering on anybody, but damn if Buffy isn't making it work. Beauty aside, she's clearly on edge. Her posture is defensive, and her mouth's drawn really tight.

She turns her face my way, and I drop my eyes, pretending to be interested in my trail mix.

"I think we have to put it to a vote," Giles suggests, getting everyone's attention. "This is getting us nowhere."

"Fine," Angel agrees, and most people start nodding their heads.

"All those in favor of leaving?" Giles asks, raising his own hand. He counts five. "And those who want to stay?" He counts five again, and all eyes turn toward our little settee.

"Tara," Giles says, "you haven't voted."

"I can't," Tara answers, her face a mask of sorrow. "I understand both points. I just don't know what to do, I'm sorry." Her eyes drop to her lap, hoping Giles will let her off the hook.

The watcher sighs heavily before looking at me. "What about you, Faith?"

I've been chewing enthusiastically up until this point, but I swallow quickly once all of them are staring at me. I'm the tiebreaker? This can't be right. It shouldn't be my decision. I can barely keep my own self together, let alone help chart the right course for all of us. "Uh," I sputter, unsure what to say. Angel is nodding at me, silently encouraging me to back him up.

"I was hoping for something a bit more definitive," Giles points out.

I start to say I don't care and they should duke it out amongst themselves. But I find myself looking at Buffy, and her eyes meet mine. I take in the desperate look on her face, the tense hunch in her shoulders. She waits for my response, not trying to influence me in any way. But she doesn't have to say anything. Just the look in her eyes is enough. "We stay," I respond confidently, like this has been my belief all along. "Let's give it a few more days; search the rest of the town." I meet Angel's displeased scowl. "LA's not going anywhere."

"Our friends could be," he bites back.

I flinch, but Giles responds before I can. "We put it to a vote and this is how it fell." He looks around the group. "Two more days and then we'll go."

Buffy's nodding in agreement now, clearly relieved. "Two more days," she confirms. "Thank you." I think she's thanking everybody, but when I look over, she's got eyes only for me.

XXXXX

Angel finds me as I'm getting ready to go out with B. "What was that about?" He asks, skipping the pleasantries.

I finish lacing up my boots without comment. I get why he's upset. Angel's one of few people who ever really gave a crap about me. I know without a doubt I owe my life to him. After Sunnydale, I was on a downward spiral. I would have kept going until someone finally put me down, and I would have taken a lot of people down with me. Angel reached for me, plucked me up, and set me on the right path. There ain't a lot I wouldn't do for that guy. Unfortunately, no matter how you do the math, he comes out somewhere below Buffy Summers. Everybody does. It's not something I want to explain to him. It's just the way it is.

"You know this is stupid," he says.

I shrug. "Maybe she's right and her mother's alive."

He shakes his head sadly. "Joyce is dead. Buffy's not thinking straight on this."

"It's only two days," I say, as I stand up to put on my backpack.

Angel looks at me closely. "I know you know I'm right. Why are you backing her up?"

I shrug my shoulders, silently willing him to end this line of questioning. When I look back at him, I can tell the pieces are starting to fall into place in his mind.

"Oh," he says finally.

"It's just two days," I say again, unsure what else to say. I never intended for anybody to know how I feel about Buffy, least of all Angel, but I'm not going to try to deny it. I respect him too much to lie to him.

"Yeah," Angel responds tonelessly.

I look at him, feeling guilty and sick. I know I had these feelings before I ever gave a crap about Angel, but it doesn't make me feel any better.

From the back room, B calls my name. She's ready to get this show on the road.

"Go," Angel tells me quietly. "She's waiting for you."

I step over to him. "Are we okay?"

Without hesitation, he nods. "Be careful out there," he advises, squeezing my shoulder for a second.

I have to blink to keep a few tears from leaking from my eyes. "Hey," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about me. I only gotta fight for my life with hordes of the undead. You're gonna be stuck with Spike all day."

The tension breaks, and Angel smiles. "Don't remind me."

XXXXX

It seems SoCal's having a heat wave. I love the heat, always have, but in this instance, I could do without. I'm moving up Revello Drive, my hair plastered to my neck from sweat, and the smell is _ungodly_. Between the actual dead bodies and the _un_dead walking ones, it's completely overwhelming. Buffy looks a little green, so I know it's not just me. In spite of the stink, we're moving fast through the streets, mostly trying to dodge the dead rather than fight them. Occasionally, we can't avoid them, and we stop to put a couple down.

As we approach B's front lawn, I spot an elderly woman on the walk. She's stooped by arthritis, but that doesn't stop her from flashing blood-speckled dentures at us. "Ah," Buffy clucks sadly. "Mrs. Winston. She lived up the street."

"You want me to do it?"

"No," she responds, "I can do it." Stepping forward, she snares one of the old lady's grappling, gnarled hands. "I'm sorry," Buffy mutters, as she brings her machete up. It slides like butter into the folds of Mrs. Winston's neck, up through her chin and into her skull. Her last moan falters, and Buffy holds her frail hand as her corpse collapses to the ground. Pulling her machete free gently, Buffy leans forward to close the woman's eyes.

She wipes the blood from her blade on the woman's clothing and stands up. Taking a deep breath, Buffy marches up the walkway and onto her front porch. I follow, watching for the dead all the while. Buffy places her hand on the knob and pauses, as if reluctant to turn it.

"It's gonna be okay," I offer, immediately flushing when I realize how lame that sounds. Her mom could be a zombie in there! In fact, looking around Sunnydale, the chances of _anything_ being okay seem pretty slim.

"Yeah," Buffy replies automatically. She turns the knob.

The door swings open silently, revealing an empty foyer. "After you," I gesture.

Following B inside, I close the door behind us. We don't need any company. Could have enough in this house as it is. Moving as quietly as possible, we do a thorough sweep of each floor. The place is totally empty and looks pretty undisturbed. There's nothing to indicate Joyce ever made it back here.

Buffy sits down heavily on the couch, her machete dropping from her slack hand. Covering her face, she tries to hold back tears. I know without a doubt I am the last person she wants with her while she falls apart, but I'm the only one here. I sit beside her and place my hand cautiously on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she insists, waving me off.

"B," I tell her, "it's okay to not be fine. It's okay if you need a few minutes. Nobody here but us."

She half sobs, half snorts.

"What?"

Through her fingers, Buffy says, "I just never thought that would be a comforting statement."

Ouch. My hand drops from her shoulder and I get to my feet.

"Faith," she emerges from her fingers. "I'm sorry; that came out wrong."

"Nah," I shrug her off. It came out exactly right. It hurts like hell, but I'm not gonna let her see that. "It's fine." I don't even know why it hurts. Of course she feels like that. I can't think of anyone in the world she's got more reason to hate than me. I'm just kidding myself thinking things can ever be different.

"No," Buffy stands too, trying to meet my eyes. "It's not." I won't look at her. "I'm trying… I really am…"

I turn to face the window, pretending to watch for zombies. I'm the picture of disinterest even as I'm hanging on to every word.

"Can we just forget I said that?" She asks, moving further into my space.

"Sure," I agree, even though she's got every right to say what she said.

"Look," she tries again, stepping forward and putting her palm on my forearm. "Faith—"

My hand covers hers and I meet her gaze. "I said it's fine."

"Okay," Buffy mutters. We look at one another for so long I start to get uncomfortable. Finally, she squeezes my arm and lets go. "I need to get a few things from upstairs."

I keep watch at the front window as the sun dips lower in the horizon. I hear Buffy moving upstairs, first in her room and then her mother's. She falls quiet after a few minutes, and then I pick up the slight sounds of her crying. I'm torn, wanting to comfort her, but knowing she doesn't want that. From me at least.

When she comes down the stairs, her pack's a little heavier, and her eyes are red.

"Okay?" I ask gently.

She glances away. "Yeah."

I cock my head toward the window. "Sun's almost down. We should head back."

Buffy nods, her gaze moving over the living room almost searchingly.

"We'll look again tomorrow," I reassure her. "We're not giving up."

"I know," she agrees, but her tone doesn't match her words.

XXXXX

It's fully dark by the time we get back to Maple Court. More of the dead seem to be out tonight than usual, and we've had to fight more than flee. I'm pretty exhausted by this point, and B looks about as fresh as I feel. We head for the back entrance to the sports store, and _fuck_, the alley's got more zombies than we need. At this point, one would be more than I need. Eight is definitely not making me happy.

Buffy takes point, rushing in first and cutting down anything standing between her and the door. I'm following right behind her when something grabs me around the waist. My instinct is to wheel and plunge my ax into its head, but Spike drops to the ground, palms raised in submission. "It's me," he manages to pant in spite of the fact that his throat is partially torn out.

"Jesus," I reach down, plucking him up from the ground.

"Couldn't... get away," he barely warbles. Blood coats his shirtfront, and when he frantically clutches at me, I can see oozing wounds through the tears in his sleeve.

"Alright," I say, trying to keep him upright. "It's alright." Spike's eyes roll in his head and he wobbles in my grip. "Yo, B," I call to Buffy, needing some help with the barely mobile vamp in my arms. She's twenty yards away, and coming closer, a concerned look on her face. "See," I glance at Spike, "we're gonna get you inside and patched up." I glance back in time to see the torn, bruised arms of a zombie encircle Buffy's shoulders. Its gaping mouth is headed right for her neck. She's pulling away, machete in hand, but I can tell she's not going to make it.

Terror, cold and thick, rises in my throat. It's like nothing I've ever felt before—not even when I've been fighting for my own life. My limbs move on instinct. Spike crumples to the ground when I release him without a second thought. My ax is flying across the alley with expert precision before I even register my own movement. It embeds itself in the zombie's forehead and he stumbles back, bloated fingers releasing Buffy as he goes.

Buffy blinks at me for a moment, before she manages to say a stunned, "Thanks."

"No problem," I say. My voice cracks, and I pretend to have something in my eye so I can rub away the wetness. To give my shaking hands something to do, I check on Spike.

"What happened?" Buffy demands as she arrives next to us.

"He was surrounded," I offer, dragging Spike into a sitting position. There's two of the dead left, and they're going to make their way to us sooner rather than later. We gotta get inside.

B helps me get him to his feet, and we drag his barely conscious form to the door. I tap out our signal. Whoever's on the other side starts to unlock the door.

"Come on," Buffy mutters, watching the dead drawing closer.

The door is yanked open, and Xander gapes at us from the other side. We shove inside, and I kick the door closed behind me.

"He needs blood," Buffy barks, "now!"

Xander dashes from the room without a word, and we maneuver Spike into a chair. His head lolls backward; he's out.

Xander rushes in, Simone at his heels. I remember now; she's a nurse. Probably doesn't have much experience keeping vamps alive, but any medical experience is better than none. I back up, letting the others check the unconscious vampire. Simone whips out scissors and snips the corner from a blood bag. Handing it to Buffy, she starts cutting off Spike's shirt to get a look at his wounds. Buffy bandages Spike's neck as best she can and then tilts his head back carefully, dribbling blood into his mouth.

Xander steps back, glancing at me as he does so. "You didn't see Angel?" He tries to ask quietly, but Buffy flinches anyway.

"Angel was with him?" I ask, dread forming in my stomach.

Xander nods. Over Spike's head, Buffy's eyes meet mine. I see my own horror mirrored in her eyes. _Where is Angel?_

XXXXX

Questions? Comments? _Braaaaaains?_ :D


	10. Collateral Damage

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_Over Spike's head, Buffy's eyes meet mine. I see my own horror mirrored in her eyes._ Where is Angel?

Chapter 10: Collateral Damage

I wake up to someone's shriek of pain. Blinking in confusion, I realize Buffy's sprawled across my body. It's her shriek, muffled by my shirt.

"Let go!" She hisses.

I realize I'm holding her wrist, yanked behind her back so she was forced to fall on top of me. "What?" I ask groggily, releasing her wrist.

"I was trying to wake you up." Buffy's voice is indignant. "I touched your shoulder, and you went ballistic."

Oh. "Uh, sorry about that."

She glares while rubbing her wrist. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Sorry, B, really. Reflexes, you know." Can't exactly blame a girl for having them. Not when you go from life in prison to life surrounded by reanimated corpses trying to eat you. "What'd you need?"

All traces of annoyance leave her voice when she says, "Spike's up."

"He going to make it?"

"We think so."

"That's good," I humor her, still not sure why I've gotta be informed about this.

"He told me where they got swarmed. I'm going to look for Angel. Are you in?"

Suddenly, I'm wide awake. "I'll be ready in five."

XXXXX

The sun's been up for a few hours. B and I creep through the industrial section of town. There aren't as many of the dead down here. It's mostly guys who were working the shipyard that morning, stumbling around in their raggedy coveralls and falling off the docks. "Spike said they were near the factory," Buffy mutters, glancing around at the decrepit buildings.

"How do we know which one?" I carefully train my crossbow on an unfortunate dead man who's taken notice of us and let loose a bolt. "All these look the same."

"He meant the one Angelus used."

I can tell by her tone she doesn't want to talk about it, so I don't ask.

"It's this way," Buffy leads the way to the railroad tracks and starts jogging down them, sword at the ready.

I remember being told to stay off the tracks when I was a little kid. Trains move faster than you think, and the way adults make it sound, they're gonna hit you outta nowhere. But chances are, no train's ever gonna come down these tracks again. The time of planes, trains, and automobiles is over. We're back to hiding from the animals, just trying to stay alive.

"Deep thoughts?" Buffy asks in a perfectly steady voice, in spite of our brisk pace.

I nod at the tracks. "Just thinking we got no use for these anymore."

She frowns. "We'll use them again someday."

I'm not so sure. The world's pretty well gone to hell. "You think so?"

"They're just bodies. They can't live forever."

"I guess not."

"They'll die off, and the world'll still be here waiting," Buffy says confidently.

I can almost believe it when B talks like this. Still, I'm not totally convinced. "But who's it waiting for? Wipe out all the humans… Demons inherit the earth."

"Not as long as I'm breathing," she mutters fiercely. It brings a grin to my face. No matter how hopeless the odds, Buffy always believes she can win. She'll do it, or she'll die fighting, but giving up is not an option.

"Ditto."

Her lips curve into a smile as she casts a sidelong look at me. "See? Our odds are looking better already." Veering off the tracks, she points to a hulking beast of a building. "That's it."

The wide street in front of us is clear, and Buffy leads the way silently down a side alley. Half the alley lays in shade, and a few collapsed bodies paint a gruesome picture. Their flesh is nearly stripped away, and blood is pooled and streaked everywhere. "Vamps," I say out loud. "I can sense 'em."

Buffy squats next to the closest body for a better look.

"Are they alive?" I ask. If they were dead, they would be ash, right?

Buffy looks a little horrified as she makes that connection, too.

"Only one way to find out," Buffy says, looking unhappily at her sword. Grimacing, she pokes very gently into the mutilated flesh before her.

It moans.

_Jesus_. I actually feel bad for these bloodsuckers. I got no love for vamps but man, this is vicious.

"Should we put 'em out of their misery?" I suggest.

Buffy looks up. "The sun's about to do that for us. Let's keep moving. If Angel's here, I don't want him sunbathing."

Between the two of us, we check every body in the alley. By the time we're through, the sun's high enough in the sky to beat down between these buildings. Nine little pyres begin, and a few of the vamps get conscious enough to scream as they burn. I try the factory doors, hoping Angel made it inside, but they're padlocked over, and most of the windows look intact.

"Are you sure Spike was like, lucid enough to remember where they were?" I'm starting to get frustrated.

"Pretty sure," Buffy confirms. "Let's try around back."

The back is almost a bust, but we come across one of the dead, trying to claw his way inside a dumpster. Seeing us, he gives up on the dumpster and stumbles our way. An excited moan bursts from his mouth. His skin is the color of rotting grapes, and he doesn't smell half as nice. I dispatch him quickly, my ax landing right between his milky red eyes.

"I wonder why he's so interested in this dumpster," Buffy looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before stepping closer to crack the lid. "Oh my God!" She cries.

"What?" I yank the lid back further so I can look too. A small flame immediately erupts on the hand inside, and Buffy shoves the lid down again.

"We found him," I grin. Sure, he's in a dumpster and looking a little worse for the wear. But he's not dust in the wind, so Go Team! Right?

Buffy grins back, throwing her arms around me spontaneously. I stiffen immediately, and she quickly releases her grip. "How are we going to get him back to camp?"

"I think I have an idea…"

XXXXX

"Can't you go any faster?" Buffy complains. "I'm running out of bolts!"

"Hey," I huff back. "Anytime you wanna switch places, princess, that's fine by me."

Buffy shuts up then and goes back to sniping zombies from her position atop the dumpster. I'm jogging along behind it, pushing it like our lives depend on it, which of course, they do. Between Buffy, Angel, and whatever trash was already in there, it feels as heavy as a damned house. It's like Spring Training for slayers. Another couple blocks and I'm gonna yak.

"We're almost there," Buffy calls, encouragingly. A bolt whizzes past my ear and thuds into the zombie who was about to tackle me from the left.

I glare up at her. "Ya mind not cutting it so close?"

She puts her hands on her hips indignantly. "I'm trying to defend us from all sides! Be grateful I caught him at all!"

"Yeah? Why don't you come down here, and I'll defend us from all sides for a while?"

Buffy snags two more in rapid succession and rolls her eyes. "Come on, Faith, it's only another block."

I'm running on practically empty right now, but I grit my teeth and keep running. I guess my willpower's better than I expected because soon the dumpster even feels lighter. Actually… wait a sec. My fingertips leave the metal of the dumpster. We're at the mouth of the alley behind Maple Court, and I totally forgot it's on an incline leading down to the sports shop. As the dumpster picks up speed, I fall a little behind.

"See, I knew you could do it," Buffy crows.

"Uh, B, that's not me." I'm running behind the out of control dumpster.

"What?" Buffy looks down at me in alarm, dropping to her knees before she's thrown off. "Faith!"

"Jump off!" I shout. This thing ain't stopping until it plows into something, and she doesn't wanna be on top when that happens.

Cursing under her breath, Buffy yanks her pack off and throws it off the dumpster. "I'm gonna kill you!" She yells, trying to get her footing on top so she can jump.

What, like I designed downtown? "Shut up and get off there!"

Buffy jumps gracelessly, directly at me. I'm not expecting it, and I don't have time to stop my forward momentum. I mean come on, she's a slayer, she doesn't know how to tuck and roll? She plows into me, knocking me flat on my back. My pack slides up and keeps my head from slamming into the cement. A few seconds later, the dumpster rams into the building with a resounding clang that's bound to draw every zombie in hearing distance.

Spitting my words around Buffy's hair, I mutter, "What the hell, B?"

"I thought you would catch me!"

The door to the sports store is yanked open, and Giles peers out in concern. His eyes sweep across the dumpster and widen when they land on the two of us. I realize my hands have cradled Buffy's butt as we were falling backward and yank them off.

Buffy struggles to get up, accidentally kneeing me in the crotch.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she winces apologetically, pulling her body upward and away from sensitive areas. Which leaves her left boob to poke me in the eye as she slides off.

"What in God's name is going on?" Giles demands. Behind him, Tara gapes at us.

"Buffy's molesting me!" I report back.

Her indignant slap barely registers over all my other aches and pains. "We found Angel," Buffy calls, climbing to her feet and dusting off. "He's in the dumpster."

Giles and Tara look at the dumpster and back at us. "I'll fetch some blankets then," Giles volunteers after a moment.

Tara rushes out, picking up Buffy's discarded pack. "Are you guys okay?"

"Cracked rib," I wheeze, "punctured lung. But Buffy's good, right, B?"

"Shut up," Buffy offers me a hand and yanks me to my feet. "You're fine."

"Next time, I'm riding on the dumpster."

"I don't even weigh that much!"

I look her up and down, knowing her body's pretty perfect, but unable to resist the urge to tease her. After all, she did just power drive me into the pavement. "I'm just saying, just because we're in a camping store doesn't mean you gotta be in the s'mores every night."

Stifling a grin, Tara redirects our attention before Buffy can knock me out. "Is Angel okay?"

"I'm not sure," Buffy says, as Giles reappears with the blankets, followed by Xander and Gunn. "I couldn't exactly open it up and check."

We work out the best way to get Angel out while keeping him shaded. Xander and Tara hold the lids open at an angle while Giles waits with a blanket spread open. I leap inside the dumpster, trying not to step on Angel.

He's a little better off than the other vamps we found, but not quite as good as Spike. I peer around him, trying to find the least painful way to hoist him up and out. Finally, I take him under his arms and pull him upward. Angel moans in pain. Well, he's definitely not going to enjoy this next part.

I drag him to the lip of the dumpster. Buffy and Gunn wait on the ground, ready to catch him in their arms. "Sorry, big guy," I whisper, hoisting his legs up so he tips out precariously.

Gunn's hands encase his shoulders, helping transition Angel's body to Buffy's shorter grip.

"Got him," Buffy confirms over Angel's whimpering.

Giles promptly throws the blanket over the vampire before he can burst into flames. I hop back to the ground, helping the other two lift Angel.

A scream erupts from behind the dumpster, and suddenly the dead seem to be everywhere.

"Get the door!" I shout, and Gunn runs ahead of us, yanking it open. From the corner of my eye, I see one of the zombies grabbing Giles.

Buffy and I sprint forward, laying Angel's unconscious form on the floor in the storeroom. The cops go charging out the door, and we're close behind.

Outside, it's chaos. Tara's fending off two of them by conjuring shimmering balls of energy. She chucks them at the dead, and they appear to be momentarily stunned. But they shake it off and keep stumbling closer. I run for her, plucking the sword from Buffy's discarded pack on my way, and put my body between them and her. I immediately decapitate one.

I hear anguished screaming from my right. Andrado is down; two of the dead are gnawing on him.

I wiggle one of my arms enticingly at the dead woman closest to us. She goes for it, stained teeth at the ready. I bring my sword down through her neck, and she falls harmlessly to the ground. Pulling Tara behind me, I inch back to the door. I have to get her inside. I see the terrified old man, Mr. Noble, peering out the door. "Open it!" I shout, and he does so immediately. Shoving Tara through, I slam it closed again.

Charging back into the fray, I scan for causalities. Buffy's twirling at full slayer speed, stabbing and kicking anything in reach. Barrigan is making solid headshots with his pistol. Gunn's about to be chow, and I grab his zombie from behind, snapping its neck before it can sink its teeth into anything.

Xander stumbles into me, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His face is pale and ashy.

"Shit," I mutter, taking a step back.

"I'm okay," he cries. But I see the bruised skin through his ripped shirt. He's been bitten.

A devastated scream almost pierces my eardrums. I turn to see Buffy, frozen in place and screaming her throat out. But she's not looking at Xander. Her eyes are locked on Giles. The watcher's face is contorted in pain, and one of the dead is locked on his neck.

Buffy's wailing, not even noticing that she's attracting more of the dead in her direction. I can't get there fast enough. One of them sinks its teeth into her arm. "Buffy!" I scream, as she looks down at her arm in shock. I shove past Xander, past Gunn, and run toward her. Her teary eyes meet mine, and then she stoops, picking up Andrado's discarded gun.

"No!" I shout, but Buffy's already racing up the alley.

I follow her, running as fast as I can. My aching muscles scream in protest, but I ignore them, focusing on nothing but the crying woman in front of me.

"Stop!" I scream. "B, God damn it! Stop!"

I'm never going to catch her this way. Forget screaming after her, I force my legs to pump as fast as they can, chasing her through the ruined streets. We're moving at full slayer speed, and the zombies milling about don't have time to do much more than let out startled moans. I'd forgotten how fast she is. She slows in front of the Art Gallery, and I finally cover the ground between us. Just as Buffy raises the gun toward her temple, I tackle her hard from behind. By the time we hit the ground, she's already struggling to escape the vice grip I've got on her.

"Stop!" She sobs, "Let me go! I have to do this!"

"You're not infected!" I shout, trying to keep a hold on her bucking body even as she slams an elbow into my sore rib.

"What?" She demands, as my words sink in.

"I'll show you," I pant. "I'll prove it. _Please_."

Buffy nods, and I roll off her, yanking my pant leg up as fast as I can. She stares at the healed bite. My skin's still green and purple, but the bite's clearly closed. Buffy reaches shaking fingers to my leg, running them over the mark. "How long ago?"

"Two weeks," I tell her.

"I'm not infected," Buffy exhales incredulously.

"No."

She starts crying again, loud, gulping sobs.

"Okay, B," I hesitantly place my arms around her. "I got you. You're okay." She shudders against me, her body wracked with grief, and maybe some relief for herself.

"Giles," she manages to sputter.

"I know," I keep my voice as soothing as possible. "I know." My hands run all over her, so fucking relieved I caught her in time. She doesn't protest, just sobs her heart out. The wound in her arm bleeds freely.

A few of the dead meander our way, letting out a moan as they come.

"We gotta move," I say, pulling the shattered Buffy to her feet. She wipes her face. When she nods, I see the determination of the slayer in her eyes.

XXXXX

So… how much do you hate me right now? :) Please let me know what you thought!


	11. Rites

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

"_We gotta move," I say, pulling the shattered Buffy to her feet. She wipes her face and I see the determination of the slayer in her eyes. _

Chapter 11: Rites

"How's the patient doing?" I peer into the large tent Angel is laid up in.

Sitting in her folding, nylon chair, it looks more like Simone is tailgating than nursing a vampire back to health, but she answers with confidence, "Much better."

She waves me in, and I duck inside. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiles warmly. "It's amazing how fast he's healing… and Buffy and Spike, too." She flushes. "Well, I guess it's not amazing to you. I'm kind of new to the whole 'vampires are real' thing."

I peer down at Angel. He's bare-chested and bandaged pretty much everywhere. But there's an empty mug with blood residue beside him, and the majority of the missing skin on his face has grown back. So he seems to be doing pretty good, considering. "And Spike?"

Simone flashes me a mischievous grin. "Currently locked in a really bitter game of Jacks with my daughter."

I look back out of the tent to see the blonde vamp sprawled on the ground, scowling at the grinning Jennie. "Dude's got supernatural reflexes. That's just sad."

"Shut it, slayer," Spike growls just loud enough for me to hear, and I smile as I take a seat in the tent.

"How about Buffy?" Simone asks, and the smile fades from my face.

XXXXX

"_We don't have to do this right now," I remind Buffy for the third time. "At least get your arm cleaned up first."_

"_I told you," Buffy snaps back, "I'm fine. I'm not going to let them walk around like that." She glances around the alley behind Maple Court until she spots her discarded crossbow. "If you don't want to help me, you can stay here."_

_Buffy stomps down the alley, and I pick up the sword I dropped earlier. Jogging after her, I call, "I didn't say that; you know I want to help you."_

_Buffy softens, waiting for me to fall into step beside her. "Then help me. I need to do this now, okay?" Her eyes are red rimmed but determined. _

_I can't say no to her. "Yeah. Okay." _

_She follows the trail of fresh blood up the alley and around the corner. We find Xander first, shuffling past the Doublemeat Palace with a dazed look on his face. _

"_Even as a zombie, he loves this place," Buffy tries to joke, but only ends up sniffling. Blood has stained his white shirt, and his skin's got the trademark blueish tint. Otherwise, he's pretty well preserved. Buffy sucks in a deep breath and brings her crossbow up to chest level. She hesitates a moment, and her deceased friend turns our way, looking at us with great interest. _

_His mouth opens, and I almost expect to hear Xander's joking tone, calling our names and letting us know he's okay. But all that comes out is the hungry moan of a dead man. Buffy fires the bolt, and it hits its target, striking Xander in the center of his forehead. He crumples to the ground, and B slowly lowers the crossbow to her side. We walk toward his body. When Buffy sinks to her knees and puts her hand gently on his unmoving chest, I turn my back to give her some privacy. I'll keep watch. _

_Her quiet crying brings a lump to my throat. I know how she's feeling. It wasn't that long ago I was watching someone I loved get killed right in front of me. Zombies, crazy vampires with grudges… the method doesn't matter. It rips your heart out all the same. _

"_I'm ready," Buffy tells me, the steel back in her voice, and we set off down the street. I'm dead on my feet starting out, and after a few hours pass without spotting Giles, I'm ready to throw in the towel. The sun's going down, bathing the streets in an orange glow. _

_It creeps me out. Aside from the wrecked cars, it's a beautiful fall night in Sunnydale. Fallen leaves litter the street without anyone to rake them up. A cool wind ruffles our hair. But then there are the Omega, their pale, disfigured forms stepping from the shadows. No matter how idyllic it may look on the surface, there's something deeply wrong in this town. In the whole world, probably. And Buffy and I are in no condition to be out here right now. _

"_We're gonna have to head back, B." _

"_Just a little while longer," she insists. _

"_I'm wiped. You've lost who knows how much blood, and you just lost your friends. You're in no condition to be out here."_

"_You don't think I know that?" She whispers harshly. _

_I hold up my hands non-threateningly. "I'm just trying to get us both back alive."_

_Buffy sighs, raking her hands across her pale face. "Yeah, I know."_

_I can sense her indecision, so I offer, "We can look again tomorrow, okay? I promise."_

_She nods in defeat, letting her shoulders slump. We turn back in the direction of camp, and I chance putting my arm around her. Surprisingly, she leans into my hold, letting me support a bit of her weight. _

_As the suns slips below the horizon, we turn into the alley behind Maple Court and almost walk straight into Giles. _

_We both recoil, bringing our weapons up and ready. Buffy's dead watcher blinks at us, still wearing his glasses. His head tilts to the side, exposing his gaping neck wound. I glance at Buffy. Tears run down her face as she fingers the trigger on her crossbow. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, "I'm so sorry, Giles." _

_Zombie Giles bears his teeth, as if in reaction to her words, and a little drool slips down his chin. He steps forward, and Buffy takes a corresponding step back. I move aside. I'm not going to tell her to shoot him until she's ready. _

"_I should have protected you," Buffy tells him sadly. _

_His arms come up, reaching out for her. _

"_I'm sorry," she whispers again, followed by a barely audible, "goodbye." The bolt soars from her crossbow. Giles wavers on his feet for a moment before his body falls to the ground, unmoving._

_Buffy's crossbow clatters when it hits the cement. She slumps down next to Giles's body, pulling his head into her lap. Her fingers smooth his hair back as her silent tears roll down her cheeks. "I can't," she tries to say before her voice breaks. "I can't leave him out here."_

"_Okay," I think for a moment. "I'll get something. Be right back."_

_I hammer my palm against the door to our shop, and after a moment, Gunn peers cautiously out. "Faith!" He exclaims incredulously. "You're alive!"_

"_Yeah," I shoulder my way inside. "Me and B both."_

_Gunn closes the door, following after me as I move into the store. "But… I saw her get bitten."_

"_She's not infected. Slayer constitution."_

"_How can you be sure?" His voice is skeptical. _

_I head straight for Giles's cot. I take his sleeping bag and pillow, as well as a book lying next to his bed. "Because I was bitten," I respond. _

_Without waiting for a response, I make my way to the tent where Spike was laid up earlier. I find Tara inside. "Faith!" She gasps, jumping up. Her gaze falls on the supplies in my arms._

"_B's outside," I explain. "We've got Giles."_

_Tara follows me from the tent, through the storeroom. Gunn looks like he's got about a million questions, but he just opens the door for us. "Knock when you're ready to come in," he says._

_I nod my thanks and snag a tarp off the shelf above the desk. The door closes behind Tara and me, and Buffy looks up, tears still shining on her face. Tara kneels beside Buffy, crying too. I give them their space, spreading first the tarp and then Giles's bedding out. After a few moments, Buffy sniffles and says, "I'm ready."_

_Together we gently lift Giles, laying him down on his blanket. Tara folds his hands over his stomach, placing his book between them. Removing his glasses, Buffy carefully folds them and slides them in his pocket. Stifling a sob, she zips the sleeping bag around his feet and up the side of his body until only his face shows. _

"_There's a bookstore down the block a little bit." I tell them. "I thought… since G loved his books…"_

"_Thank you," Buffy agrees. _

_We tuck the tarp around his sleeping bag and lift his body once more. Tara holds Buffy's crossbow and walks ahead of us. The alleyway is thankfully free of zombies. When we reach the entrance for Book Stew!, we gently put Giles down. I go in first, doing a quick sweep and taking out the undead clerk I find inside. _

"_It's clear," I tell the others, and we bring Giles inside. We carry him into the main shop, and Buffy chooses a plush sofa near the back. She lays a light hand on the tarp, closing her eyes for a moment. Tara and I bow our heads respectfully. _

"_It's time to do what we should have done yesterday," Buffy's voice is stronger now. _

_I look up to meet her eyes._

"_We're getting the hell out of Sunnydale."_

XXXXX

"She's doing okay, considering," I respond to Simone. "Tara talked her into lying down for a bit." I gesture to the extra cot in the tent. "You should try to get some shut eye, too. We're gonna head out before dawn."

"I will," she promises. "Can you send Jennie in? Tell her it's bed time."

"Sure," I agree, ducking out of the tent. "Hey, kid, your mom wants ya."

Jennie hops up obediently, leaving Spike to clean up their game.

I tilt my chin in greeting. "How's the neck?"

"Good as new," he boasts.

"Good. Could use your help getting things loaded on the bus."

Rolling his eyes, the vampire gets to his feet. "Even a near mortal injury doesn't get me out of packing duty?"

"Nope," I smile. "You want a seat, you get packing."

Spike huffs, making his way to the storeroom to help Gunn and Mr. Noble organize supplies. We've all agreed it's best to get out of Sunnydale as soon as possible. With the loss of both cops, Giles, and Xander, nobody has the heart to keep fighting it out here. We're gonna tuck tail and run back to LA, hoping for better conditions down there. I strain my ears for a moment, listening to any sound from Buffy's area, but everything is silent. Telling myself to give her space, I follow Spike to the storeroom.

XXXXX

"Man," I smile at Angel, "Wait'll I tell Cordelia she was right about this whole Sunnydale thing."

He gives me a weak glare as Gunn and I help get him settled into the makeshift bed we've arranged. "Don't you dare," he warns.

"But we have so few pleasures left in life," Gunn tells him.

"You're fired," Angel responds. "Did I mention you're both fired?"

"Good thing we don't work for you," Gunn laughs. Angel's a little out of it from the pain meds Simone pumped into him. She wasn't sure of the dosage she'd need for a vamp, so she kind of guesstimated. I guess it was a little on the heavy side.

I check the blankets we've hung over all the windows in the back. Everything looks tight, so I hustle back off the bus to see what's left to load. Simone settles Jennie in the back near Angel, tucking her still sleeping daughter in carefully. In the storeroom, Tara and Buffy are taking one last glance around. "I can't believe this is it," Buffy says.

Tara gives her hand a squeeze and heads toward the bus.

I take her space beside B. "We're gonna be safer getting outta here," I remind her.

"I know," she nods. "I guess I just never thought I'd be leaving Sunnydale." She glances at me. "Not like this."

I know she's thinking of her mom and her friends. I don't know what to say, so I lay my hand lightly on her shoulder.

She gives me a shaky smile. "I'm okay."

"I know ya are." I squeeze her shoulder before letting go. "You ready to head out?"

"Yeah, I think we've got everything." She glances around the room just to be sure. "Is that… porn?"

I shake my head in disappointment. "Meyer, what a perv."

Spike sails by, carrying his bedroll, and snags the magazine from the desk. "No sense in leaving it behind," he says defensively.

Buffy wrinkles her nose, and we follow Spike from the store.

Mr. Noble sits in the driver's seat of the bus. "I volunteer for Meals on Wheels," he tells us proudly. "I can drive something this size, no problem."

I'm not gonna protest; I've seen B drive. I take a seat, and Buffy surprises me by sliding in right beside me. We sit together in silence, watching the sun come up as our bus rolls slowly out of town.

XXXXX

We drive down the clogged freeway, taking the same way back that Angel, Gunn, and I took here. I watch the Motor Inn disappear in the rearview without a trace of regret, but I know Buffy's silence isn't nearly as peaceful. She's lost her family and her home. I didn't have anything to lose in the first place.

In a sick way, my life has actually improved since the apocalypse. I've got my freedom. I'm sitting next to Buffy, and she's seemingly not revolted by that fact. You can tell which one of us is the good slayer, just by my thought process. As far as I know, the total population of the world is either dead or avoiding becoming snack food for their neighbors, and still the only thing that matters to me is Buffy. I just want her to _look_ at me. Just one look and all of this would be worth it. I'd let the whole world burn to ashes if it meant she was mine. My shrink would have a field day with this.

Suddenly, Buffy's arm smashes into mine. I reach out to steady her as Gunn shoves by, making his way to the front of the bus.

"Yo," I growl, "wanna watch where you're going?"

He waves me off, now leaning over Mr. Noble to peer out the windshield.

"What is it?" Buffy asks, moving to stand behind them.

"That car," he points at the small blue car driving toward us. "That's Cordelia's car!"

"What?" Buffy strains to see into the approaching car. Gunn's already telling Mr. Noble to stop. When Buffy nods, the old man does so. He opens the bus door, and Gunn jumps out, with B and me on his heels. The car gets closer and I see it's Wesley behind the wheel. Cordelia sits on the passenger side, and she leaps from the car almost before he gets it to a complete stop.

She runs to us, throwing her arms around Gunn who hugs back just as hard. Wesley's reaching into the backseat for something, but Cordelia commands our attention. "Where's Angel?"

Buffy winces, and we exchange glances.

"What?" Cordelia demands. "Where is he? Did something happen?"

"He got hurt," Buffy says gently. "But he's going to be okay."

Cordelia shoves past us and gets on the bus.

"Who's that?" Buffy asks.

Looking back at Wesley, I see he's not alone. Kim's walking with him, grinning from ear to ear.

"That's Kim," I say completely unhelpfully. I don't miss the amused glance Gunn gives me before he heads for the bus.

Wesley greets Buffy first while Kim throws her arms around me. "Faith," she says into my neck, obviously choked up. "You're okay!"

"I'm okay," I agree, squeezing her back tightly.

"I'm afraid Cordelia was telling her some horror stories about Sunnydale," Wesley chuckles, holding out his hand to me. "She was convinced you'd be dead when we got there."

Releasing Kim, I take his hand and give it a firm squeeze.

"Hi," Kim greets Buffy enthusiastically, "I'm Kim, Faith's friend."

Buffy's looking like she knows I've never had a friend in my life, but she takes Kim's hand anyway. "I'm Buffy," she says, "also Faith's friend."

My breath gets stuck in my throat and I snort, quickly dissolving into coughs. My friend? Is she serious? Buffy slaps me on the back helpfully. I manage to get control of myself. Ignoring the weird looks the others are giving me, I ask, "How are things back at the hotel?"

Wesley and Kim lose their smiles immediately. "There was an incident," Wesley says delicately.

"The dead?" I ask, thinking of all the people I met at Angel's.

"No," Kim replies. "Ernesto… he was the tall guy you met? He had kind of a breakdown…"

I see where she's going with this, and I'm horrified. We've all got enough problems now without humans turning on each other. "How many?"

"Almost everyone," Wesley says with an undercurrent of anger in his voice. "Four of us survived."

"Three now," Kim adds, her eyes shining slightly.

I'm almost speechless. "Jesus," I whisper. I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving Kim in LA, but obviously I was wrong about that. I find my arm reaching out to pull her against my side. "I shoulda been there."

"I'm okay," Kim says firmly, but she leans against me. "You're here now."

From the corner of my eye, I notice B looking at us pretty closely. Trying to get the conversation back on track, I ask, "So you decided to come down here and find us?"

"No, that isn't why we came." Wesley's worried gaze meets mine. "Cordelia had a vision."

XXXXX

I know some of you were hoping Xander or Giles was going to be saved, so I hope you're not too sad now. Next chapter will be a little more upbeat. As upbeat as you can be with hordes of undead trying to eat you anyway. Guesses about Cordelia's vision? :) Please let me know what you thought!


	12. Blurry Visions

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

"_No, that isn't why we came." Wesley's worried gaze meets mine. "Cordelia had a vision."_

Chapter 12: Blurry Visions

Buffy gives Cordelia her full attention when she starts describing her vision. I'm half listening, trying to heat some lunch for all of us on this crappy portable burner. Everyone's crowded into the bus now, with Gunn and Spike doing watch duty at opposite ends.

I hear something about Angel's heart beating and smile. Maybe after all this shit we've gone through, something good's really going to happen.

Cordelia continues, "And Buffy was there. You guys made with the horizontal mambo, which ew, I could have done without seeing."

The can of beans I'm holding cracks within my fist, popping loudly. Everyone looks over at me. "Are you okay?" Buffy asks.

"Uh, yeah," I wipe my hands off on a towel and try to muster up a smile.

She looks at me curiously before turning back to the group and addressing Angel. "Do you have any idea what it means? I mean… she heard your heart beat. That couldn't happen, could it?"

Before Angel can respond, Wesley interjects, "It could be the Shanshu prophecy!"

"It's not," Angel offers, as Buffy asks what the prophecy is.

Wesley replies, "There's a prophecy that one day, when his mission is complete, Angel will become human."

Buffy looks to Angel. "And you never told me?"

"It isn't that," he repeats.

"How do you know?"

Angel looks like he wants to crawl in a hole and die, but he answers her anyway. "Because what Cordy saw, that already happened."

Everyone looks confused now. I know I was a bit out of the loop in prison, but I'm pretty sure I woulda heard if Angel was alive again. 

Fixing his gaze on Buffy, Angel continues, "It was a couple months ago. When you came to LA after Thanksgiving."

"But… that didn't happen."

"It did," Angel tells her. "You just don't remember because I asked the Powers That Be to rewind the day."

"So you wouldn't become human," Wesley says.

Angel nods, still waiting for Buffy to respond.

Her body is rigid, and I can practically see the anger growing in her. Finally she just asks, "Why?"

Angel's full of explanations, about how he knew she'd die sooner if she was protecting him all the time, and how the world needed him as a vampire, but I can tell it's going in one ear and out the other for Buffy. While he's still speaking, she stands up and walks down the center of the bus toward me. I crank the door open, and she gives me a grateful nod before disappearing down the stairs.

An awkward silence fills the bus before Gunn asks, "So why are they showing this to us now?"

Angel sighs, "I became human again when the demon's blood mixed with mine. The Mohra demon."

Wesley puts it together first. "And if their blood can make a vampire with a soul human again…"

"It can probably heal the infected," Angel finishes.

XXXXX

Kim settles in next to me with her lunch in hand. "So, that's your straight girl, huh?"

My head whips around quickly, but Angel's busy discussing Cordelia's vision with the gang. Spike peers out the back window for signs of trouble. B is still outside. "Super hearing," I tell Kim, tilting my head toward the back of the bus. "Keep it down, will you?"

"Sorry," she says, her dark eyes widening.

I nod, continuing to eat.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Is that her?" Kim asks, exasperated.

I see that she's not going to drop it, so I sigh and give her a nod of affirmation.

"Pretty," she offers quietly.

"Yeah."

From the window next to me, I can see B standing 20 yards off, staring into the trees next to the road.

"You should bring her something," Kim suggests, offering me her plate of food. It seems like an okay idea, so I take the plate and slide out of the seat after Kim.

"Thanks," I say, on my way down the steps. Outside, the air is hot and dry. I pick my way across the freeway, arriving on Buffy's left. "Thought you might be hungry," I say, wiggling the plate in my hand.

She accepts the plate and thanks me quietly. I stay there, looking with her into the trees. After a moment, I offer, "Want me to stake him?"

That brings a little smile to her face, and Buffy sighs. "No, thanks. We kind of need him."

"Damned apocalypse," I scuff my boot angrily in the dirt.

Snorting softly, Buffy nods in agreement. Turning to face the bus, she leans her butt on the guardrail and starts to pick at the food I brought.

I do likewise, trying to think of the right thing to say. I'm not going to say I'm sorry Angel did what he did. I love Angel, but my time in the clink hasn't reformed me enough to want him to get the girl. Not this girl anyway. Finally I settle for, "I think he thought it was the right thing to do, for what it's worth."

Buffy frowns, and I realize I've said the wrong thing.

Trying to fix it, I quickly continue. "I know he wouldn't give you up unless he thought he had to."

Buffy doesn't respond for a moment, then she asks in a small voice, "How do you know?"

"Nobody would," I tell her, wondering if that sounds as incredibly transparent to her as it does to me.

If the sharp glance she gives me is any indication, it does.

I try to think of something to say that makes it sound less like I was talking about _me_ not giving her up, but before I can, Buffy recovers and knocks her knee into mine gently. "Thanks, Faith."

"Sure," I mutter. My cheeks feel like they're on fire, and I sure hope I look cooler than I feel.

Mercifully, Buffy looks away, her eyes moving over the abandoned cars. "It's not just Angel," she murmurs after a while. From the sudden shine in her eyes, I know her thoughts are back in Sunnydale. Buffy's a strong woman, she's had to be, but nobody could go through what she has during the last few weeks and come out unaffected.

I struggle to think of something comforting to say. "G was a real good guy," I start, intending to say something more intelligent.

But B shakes her head quickly. "I, umm, I can't talk about him yet."

I nod in understanding. "Sure."

Buffy balances the food on her lap. The two of us watch the gleam of the afternoon sun on the road for a while, not talking.

When Buffy speaks, her voice is so quiet I can barely hear her. "I know it's my fault."

"B, no," I protest immediately, turning to look at her. She's got her eyes on the food in her lap, hard to tell if they're tearing up, but from her voice I'd bet they are.

"Giles was right," she replies. "We should have left when he wanted to."

"You couldn't know what was going to happen," I tell her.

Buffy shakes her head. "I knew what it was like in Sunnydale. I knew we weren't all going to make it out… that I was putting them in danger. I just couldn't go, not without…" she trails off, and the food slides from her lap as she brings her hands to her face.

"Nobody blames you for that," I reassure her. I don't actually know if that's true, but if anybody _does_ blame her, I'll give 'em a talking to. She had a family there. What good is being Chosen if you can't save the people you love? I get why she had to try.

Buffy's crying almost silently. Only the shaking of her shoulders gives it away.

I take her hands gently, and tug them away from her face. Buffy looks up at me through wet eyes. "I voted, too," I tell her. "I was the tie breaker. If it's anyone's fault we stayed, it's mine." I'm the defective slayer, always have been. I can handle two more lives on my conscience. Buffy's always tried to do what's good. It's not right for her to bear this by herself. I'm not gonna let her do it.

Buffy looks at me a long time. Then she looks at her hands, still cradled in mine. "It's not," she replies. "But thanks."

I want to say something else, something to make her feel better. I'm drawing a blank.

Buffy squeezes my hands before she lets go. "We'd better get back," she says, standing up. I follow her across the abandoned highway.

XXXXX

Angel basically refuses to rest at the hotel when we get there. Even though he's still healing from what happened in Sunnydale, he insists we have to go hunt the Mohra right away. I mean, I get it; we're looking at a potential cure. We all want that, after the people we've lost. But it's not smart to go out when he's in such bad shape, and I don't waste any time telling him that.

"You're barely on your feet," I point out. "Let's get some rest and wait until tomorrow."

Buffy backs me up. "Faith's right. It can wait one more day."

"I'm fine," Angel insists, "and I'm going now. So are you in or not?" He sways on his feet as he asks.

"Damn it, Angel," Buffy cries, "you're being reckless!"

"I don't want to lose anyone else," he shouts back.

Flinching, Buffy steps closer to him. "Neither do I," she says before suddenly cocking back her fist and hitting him hard in the jaw.

Angel slumps to the ground, out cold.

"What?" Buffy asks innocently, seeing the rest of us looking at her in shock. "He wasn't going to listen!"

Cordelia shakes her head in annoyance, dropping to her knees beside Angel.

"Nice hit," I compliment, and Buffy gives me a weary smile.

"Well," Wesley asks dryly, "who's up for dinner?"

XXXXX

Dinner is cold canned goods and some soaked beans. The gas lines have long since stopped working, along with everything else. We could heat our food over a fire, or go back to the bus and use the portable burner, but with the amount of dead in the city, I'd rather not. Anything that draws attention to us is not a good idea. So we spoon beans and canned vegetables out onto paper plates. Luckily the sporting goods store was well stocked with oil lamps, so we don't have to rely solely on candles anymore. I got a look in the pantry as we were getting dinner together; the canned goods are dwindling. We've got plenty of dried beans and cornmeal, and I guess technically people can live on any kind of food. But long-term, if we're gonna stay healthy and outlast these zombies, we need more. We need to tackle this issue with the Mohra demons, but soon we're going to need to discuss long-term solutions to this thing.

Over the meal, we fill the LA crew in on some of what happened in Sunnydale. We don't address the deaths specifically, and Wes and Cordelia have the good grace not to ask about the other Scoobies. Cordelia does have a question though.

"Buffy," she asks, almost like she doesn't want to hear the answer, "were you ever in my parents' neighborhood?"

B nods. "I checked their house. There was no one there. I'm sorry, Cordy." I can tell by her downcast eyes that she's feeling bad about this. Buffy's always been like this, taking the weight of the world on her shoulders. She feels responsible for every life lost in Sunnydale, even though there was no way to save them. The deck's always been stacked against her. But that doesn't stop her from caring.

Nobody tries to suggest maybe Cordelia's parents are alive. I doubt anyone is left alive in that town at this point. Wesley places his hand over hers briefly. "We've lost a lot of good people," he murmurs, and I know he's thinking of the people from Sunnydale, as well as the people who died senselessly at the hotel. "It isn't fair, and at times it feels almost too much to bear." I wait for him to say something about Cordelia's vision and the hope it offers, but he lets it rest there. We all sit in silence, thinking of our own losses. The people from the prison weren't exactly the type that most people would mourn for, but I do. It's not right for people to die this way, no matter who they are.

Gunn is the first to speak, and he lifts his paper cup of water, holding it toward the center of the table. "To tomorrow," he says quietly. I don't know who he's lost, but I can tell just by looking at him there was someone.

We all lift our cups. It's hard to find things to toast to in the new world we have, but tomorrow is something we're all hoping for. "To tomorrow," we repeat, touching cups carefully.

After that, the mood perks up a little. I think we're all enjoying a little break in the life or death scenarios for the night. I'm listening to Gunn and Wesley talk about the potential of the demon blood, when I hear Kim say something that makes me cringe.

"So Buffy," she begins, "how do you and Faith know each other?"

My head turns so quick I probably look like a cartoon. Kim knows why I was locked up, but none of the details. It's not something I really felt the need to share. I guess it's all about to come out.

"We used to work together in Sunnydale," B says easily, managing to gloss over our entire history. "After Faith went to, uh, prison, we fell out of touch." She glances at me apologetically.

Oh, she's sorry for outing me as a con? "Don't worry about it, B," I say. "Kim got paroled by the zombies too."

"Oh," B says, now eyeing Kim speculatively.

"Car thief," Kim quickly supplies.

"Handy skill to have in the apocalypse," Buffy replies, relaxing now that she realizes Kim's relatively harmless. "So you guys knew each other inside?"

"Actually, we just met on the day that this all started. Faith saved my life." Kim beams at me. "She was already safe, could have just kept going. But she didn't. I couldn't believe anyone would jump back down into _hell_ like that, but she surprised me."

"Yeah," B says softly, and her eyes cut to mine. "She has a way of doing that."

After dinner, Buffy wants to lie down, so I take her up to the floor I've been staying on. Most of the rooms stand empty and she's got her pick of the group. She opts for the lonely end of the hall, far from Kim, Wes, and me. I get her a couple gallons of water to keep in her bathroom. Without running water, we have to use bottled for everything. And every drop of dirty water goes in the toilet tank. Someday we're probably going to be coming up with alternatives to modern plumbing, but today ain't that day.

It looks like she's got everything she needs. I glance at her and she's standing by the bed, looking at me.

"What?" I ask self-consciously. Why is she looking at me like that?

Buffy cocks her head, looking at me for a long moment. "You're really not the Faith I knew anymore, are you?"

I digest that for a minute. "No offense, B, but you never really knew me at all."

She flushes, nodding. "I guess not," she admits. "You were hard to get to know."

"You didn't try." The hard edge of anger in my voice surprises me, but I realize it's true. She didn't try. She had her life and her friends and her boyfriend, and I was just one more way slaying got in her way.

I'm expecting her to argue, but she slowly sits down on the edge of her bed. I can see the exhaustion in her frame. "You're right," she says. "I didn't."

My anger's gone as quickly as it came. I decide to throw her a bone. "Got my head on straight but I'm still me, " I tell her, addressing her original question. "Some things never change."

"Some things do," she says. She looks so lost it makes my throat ache.

I stand in the doorway, desperately wanting to stay with her. I'm looking for a sign, something to tell me she needs me here.

But Buffy catches herself, looking up at me with clearer eyes. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah," I say. "Goodnight, B." I close her door softly. I don't know how she always leaves me feeling gutted, but she does. I take a moment to pull my shit together before heading back downstairs.

Later that night, I'm counting the ceiling tiles in the dark, and I hear her crying. There's a couple of us on this floor, but I can tell it's Buffy. She's trying to keep quiet, probably mindful of all the supernatural hearing around her. I'm close enough to hear her small, exhausted sobs, and it twists my guts. I fantasize about creeping down the hall to her room and climbing into her bed. I'd pull her into my arms and hold her until every hurt was chased away. But she's not mine to hold; she's never gonna be. So I roll on my side and curl my legs up to my chest. I close my eyes and try to block her out.

XXXXX

In spite of Spike's complaints, Angel gets us moving right after daybreak. The mood in the sewer is tense, and I'm keeping my trap shut about it. Anger is simmering between Buffy and Angel, and I'm not going to be the thing that causes the dam to erupt. Spike seems to have the opposite plan.

"How's the jaw, mate?" He sidles up next to Angel and gives his best concerned face. Off Angel's glower, he nods sympathetically. "She hits like a sledgehammer, our little slayer."

"I'm nobody's 'little slayer,'" Buffy growls, "and you're about to get reacquainted with my fist."

Angel turns left, leading us down another tunnel. We're following his memory of where the Mohra nest was. We've got no clue how to use their blood once we get it. You can't exactly run up to each zombie in the world, slash their hand open, and plop a little demon blood in there. So basically, we're flying blind. But even the barest hint of hope is better than nothing, so we keep on trudging through this sewer.

Spike's quiet again. I assume he's thinking of his next annoying comment. I almost plow into his back when he stops short in front of me. I glance over his shoulder and see Angel standing straight, his palm held up in warning. A warbling moan echoes down the tunnel a moment later. We all look sharp, holding our weapons at the ready, as one of the dead shambles into our tunnel from a junction several yards ahead. It's more rancid than most, with the lower half of its body swollen and cracked from exposure to the water down here. The skin of its face is stretched thin over hollowed cheeks. The sheen of bone pokes from its shoulder and its left arm dangles uselessly beside it. And the smell… eau de zombie mixed with raw sewage. It's almost enough to make me yak. Apparently it's the same for Buffy, who doubles over, pressing her sleeve against her nose.

Angel creeps forward, intending to take this one out quickly, but he stops short when the shadows of several others flicker across the mouth of the tunnel. The zombie making his way toward us moans ravenously, and the horde behinds him echoes his sentiments. If the appearance of this one means anything, they've been starving down here. The sewer rats may be as big as dogs, but apparently they're not nearly as filling.

"That's a lot of O's," I point out. "Am I the only one thinking we should be backing up?"

"This is the fastest way," Angel answers. "We need to fight through them and keep going."

Buffy steps in front of him. "Fine, but you're still weak. You take the rear."

Angel looks like he wants to protest, but I step around him to stand next to Buffy. She smiles at me. "Poor zombies. Two slayers…"

"They'll never know what hit 'em," I agree.

She leaps forward to take the closest one, and I rush past, raising my ax above my head as I meet the horde. I slash and stab, narrowly avoiding their teeth as they claw at me with bony, emaciated hands. The others are behind me, mowing the dead down slowly but steadily. Spike swears when one of them manages to sink its teeth into his forearm. Angel's sword sinks through the zombie's skull, and it slumps to the ground, releasing Spike. I'm stepping over the fallen bodies now, pushing forward through the crowd. Something grabs my ankle with unexpected strength, and I find myself going down before I can catch my balance.

"Faith!" Angel calls, just as my chin collides with the ground. My teeth dig into my lip, splitting it open and making me taste blood. The unblinking eyes of the dead man in front of me swim in and out of focus. He's got at least three mouths, all of them opening toward me. Bits of black, dead flesh are caught between his teeth. I hear the echoing shouts of my friends as if they're coming from far away, and I blink hard, trying to clear my vision. I open my eyes, and the teeth are closer than ever, closing in on my face.

There's a crunching sound and then the teeth still, and torn, gray lips fold over them almost peacefully. I look up to see two Buffys, each withdrawing their sword from the skull of the zombie lying in front of me.

I close my eyes again, unnerved by the double vision. Buffy crouches beside me, her hands gentle on my face. "Faith," she calls urgently, "can you hear me?"

Hear her? Her voice slams through my head like a freight train. It's a pretty train, but it still leaves me wincing.

"Hear ya," I mutter back. Buffy's fingers prod my bloody chin, and I flinch.

"Okay," she whispers urgently, "I'm gonna help you up."

I coordinate myself somewhat functionally as she hauls me up from the ground, but I sway on my feet.

"I've got you." Buffy's hands grasp my shirtfront, holding me upright.

I chance opening my eyes again, and I'm pleased to see just one Buffy, although she's a little blurry around the edges.

Her arm loops around my waist, holding me upright. "Are you okay?" She asks, her free hand brushing the hair from my face, looking for wounds. She winces when she sees my lip.

She's close enough that I could kiss her, and I think about it for a second. She probably won't knock me out since I'm obviously already injured. I settle for bringing my hand to her hip to steady myself. "Yeah."

"How much further is it?" Buffy demands, glancing at Angel.

"Almost there," he responds. "You got her?"

"Yep," Buffy slips under my arm, shouldering some of my weight, and we start down the tunnel again. I'm still unsteady. My limbs feel oddly disconnected from my body, but Buffy's arm around my waist keeps me going. I try to focus on their conversation as we walk, but my concentration fades in and out. My brain was obviously scrambled a bit by my meeting with the bottom of the pipe. That's okay; I'm not that worried about what they're saying. I'm using all my cognitive skills on memorizing the feel of Buffy's arm around my waist.

Realizing we've stopped moving, I blink and try to focus again on what we're doing.

"This is it?" Buffy asks, and Angel's grim face nods back at her.

"Nothing here," Spike points out the obvious.

"They must have moved on," Angel admits, clearly frustrated.

We're back to square one. No Mohra demons. Miles into the sewer system with more of the dead sure to be coming our way. And it's at this moment that everything starts to fade out for me. The last thing I'm aware of is Buffy holding on to me as I slip to the ground.

XXXXX

What'd you think of Cordy's vision? Was it what you guys were expecting? Please let me know what you thought! :)


	13. Splinters

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_We're back to square one. No Mohra demons. Miles into the sewer system with more of the dead sure to be coming our way. And it's at this moment that everything starts to fade out for me. The last thing I'm aware of is Buffy holding on to me as I slip to the ground._

Chapter 13: Splinters

"Spike, left!" Buffy screams. And just like that, consciousness slams into me. I'm cradled in someone's arms, the stagnant air in the tunnel ruffling my hair. My body bounces painfully. We're moving fast. I try to speak and manage to whimper. Hot, sticky blood is oozing down my face and neck. My mouth tastes like pennies.

"It's okay," Angel's voice is above me. He's carrying me. I look up. His lips are moving, but I can't hear him...

I'm on the floor of the tunnel, and I realize I must have passed out again. Buffy, Angel, and Spike stand in front of me, each equipped with a sword and furiously stabbing and beheading the undead closing in on us from all sides. I stumble to my feet, using the tunnel wall for help. "Where's m'sword?" I slur.

One of the dead gets past Buffy, and its slick, decomposing hand paws at my arm. I yank back, and some of its skin slips off, dropping wetly to the concrete below. Undeterred, it reaches again, only to have its forearm chopped unceremoniously from its body. Buffy steps backward, moving her body to shield mine, and quickly stabs her sword into the zombie's face.

She glances over her shoulder, eyeing me up and down. "Angel," she calls, "take Faith, move, we'll cover you."

The vamp nods, steps back, and throws his arm around my waist.

"Spike, take point!" Buffy shouts.

Spike charges forward, and Angel drags me along after him. I feel like a rag doll. We're unsteady now, trying to run on the uneven ground made up of fallen bodies. They squish under our feet, and I hear bones snapping as Spike's boot stomps on a hand. A wave of nausea hits me. It's either the head injury or the bloated bodies popping like sour grapes under my feet.

Spike's given up on actually killing them now, he just shoves them aside, creating a clear path for us to follow.

"Faster!" Buffy's yelling desperately.

I trip, almost falling before Angel scoops me up, cradling me once more. "I can do it," I slur in protest…

Shit. I must have passed out again. I shake my head, trying to clear it. "Where's Spike?" Buffy's voice is a whisper. I'm sandwiched between her and Angel, the three of us crowded into a recessed maintenance doorway.

"I think," Angel's voice is anguished and barely audible, "they overwhelmed him." He's still holding me in his arms, and I wiggle to let him know I'm awake. "I saw him backing into the pipe on the right."

They both look down at me.

"There's an exit, a quarter mile up," Angel says. "If we move now, we can make it."

She nods. "Take Faith. I'll be right behind you."

"Buffy, no," Angel says, realizing what she wants to do. "Let him go, we have to get out of here."

Ignoring his protests, Buffy wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him over me. "Just go." She releases Angel, looking down at me. Her hand brushes my cheek briefly, then she jumps from the doorway, running down the tunnel and disappearing into darkness.

"No!" I scream after her. Angel jumps to the ground and runs, still holding me. I struggle wildly. I'm like a feral creature, scratching at him to be released. He's running in the opposite direction, toward the exit. He's leaving her here! "Put me down!" I shriek. "Buffy!"

XXXXX

The next time I open my eyes, I'm lying on the couch in the Hyperion lobby. Simone's perched next to me, trying to clean the muck from my chin. Angry, loud voices come from Angel's office, and I try to sit up immediately. "Buffy!"

"Faith!" Kim chirps, her anxious face appearing in my line of vision, "You can't get up!"

"Where's Buffy?" I demand, ignoring the searing pain in my head when I look around.

"She's fine!" Simone says, trying to push my shoulders back down.

I relax at that, although it still feels like someone's driving a sledgehammer into my head. "Spike?" I ask.

"Right here, love." I swivel my head as much as Simone allows, and see Spike laid out on the other couch. He's got a huge bandage on the side of his head, covering his ear. His white blonde hair is stained like rust. Tara sits next to him, dabbing thick globs of antiseptic on the angry bites down his arm and exposed torso.

"Still alive?" I croak in disbelief.

"Must be that protection spell I did on you," Tara smiles down at Spike.

"Must be," he says agreeably.

"Well, damn, where's my spell?" I ask. "Dude has more lives than a cat."

Simone shushes me, pulling my face into forward position. She resumes cleaning the wound on my chin, ignoring my wincing and wiggling when the antiseptic stings me.

The voices from the office get louder, and then the door crashes open. Buffy comes storming out, her cut shirt revealing bandages to her stomach.

Angel's hot on her heels. "Buffy," he says angrily, "we're not done talking about this."

"Talking about what?" I ask, pushing Simone's hands away and trying to sit up. Giving up, she grasps my forearms and helps haul me up.

"Cordelia had another vision," Buffy answers. "Of a little boy. We're supposed to save him." I notice she has three deep scratches in her cheek.

Through the pounding in my skull, I hear Angel's response. "And we will, as soon as we find the demons."

"Cordy," Buffy interjects sarcastically, "did your vision give you a timetable for when we're supposed to save this kid? Will next week be okay?"

Cordelia shrugs helplessly, and Angel glares at Buffy. "We need to find the demons, Buffy. It could mean a cure."

"And the little boy?"

Shaking his head sadly, Angel says, "We'll go as soon as we can."

Wesley strides from the office, carrying a bottle of aspirin. "I think Buffy's right," he offers, as he shakes five of the pills free for me.

"Thank you!" Buffy crows.

Kim presses a bottle of water into my hand, and I take the aspirin gratefully.

"Buffy is not right," Angel growls, exasperated now. "We're talking about the fate of the world versus one little boy."

No one says anything for a long moment, and then Buffy tells him quietly, "I can't do that, Angel. I can't let some innocent kid die for the greater good. Can you?"

"Buffy," he starts to say, looking at her with hurt clear in his face.

She cuts him off, "I'm going to find the boy. You can stay here."

"You can't go alone," he argues.

"She won't be," I rasp, and all eyes turn to me. "I'm going with her."

Buffy sits down next to me and crosses her arms, as if daring Angel to argue now.

He shoots me a betrayed glance. "This isn't wise; we're dividing our resources." Off Buffy's stony look, he storms back into his office and closes the door behind him.

Exhaling hard, Buffy turns to me. "You sure you're up for this?"

I try to nod, but pain shoots through my head, so I settle for verbal agreement. "Yeah, totally."

XXXXX

Simone orders me to bed for the night, and I'm not going to argue with her. I am definitely not in top form right now. Once she's got me settled like she wants, she reaches in her bag and produces a penlight. Pulling my eyelid up, she flicks the light over my eyes. First one and then the other. I wince, trying to pull my face away from her hold.

"Have you always been this much of a baby?" Kim asks, sitting beside me on the bed.

Simone finally releases me, and I scowl at both of them. "I'm not a baby," I growl. "Just don't need all this fussing around. I got slayer healing; I'll be fine."

"I hope so," Simone says, worriedly. "Anything could be going on in your brain after a hard hit like that. And without the proper equipment, I can't check you out."

"Don't worry," Buffy says, as she appears in the doorway to my room. "I don't know anybody with a harder head than her. I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Haha," I mutter, "let's all gang up on the concussed girl."

Kim smiles. "You make it so easy. How can we resist?"

Simone still looks worried, but she pats my knee and stands up. "Well, just stay in bed tonight, okay? And I want to check you in the morning before you go."

"Yes, ma'am."

She takes her leave, off no doubt to check on Spike's healing.

Buffy drifts closer to the bed. "Kim, do you mind if I talk to Faith for a couple minutes?"

Kim glances at me, and I nod. "Sure," she says. "Catch you guys later."

After she leaves, B sits down on the bed, facing me. "How's the head?" She asks.

"I'll be fine by morning."

Reaching out, she brings her hand to my face. She tilts my chin, inspecting the bandage Simone put on. "You sure?" She asks, as she withdraws her fingers. "You don't have to come with me if you're not up to it."

Does she not want me to go? We worked together in Sunnydale, but maybe that was just out of desperation, and she'd rather be on her own. Suddenly, I feel very vulnerable about being flat on my back, so I shift around, pulling myself into a seated position. "Are you… I mean, am I getting that you don't want me to go?"

"No," she answers immediately, "that's not it. I'd feel better if you were coming with me, I just don't want you to push it if you're not up for it."

I'm relieved, so I smile. "You know me, B, I'm always pushing."

"I know," she agrees, and then drops her voice into what she thinks is a good impression of me, "Let's jump in this manhole and see what's down there, B. If you don't come with me, I might die."

"You are _terrible_ at impressions," I tell her. "Like, seriously beyond bad. Don't quit your day job."

"As if I could," she says, no doubt thinking of the countless undead outside the hotel. "Seriously though, don't push too hard. We're a little short on brain surgeons right now."

"I'm not gonna check out on you," I promise. "Who else would you get to go out with you during the day? Cordelia?"

Buffy does something between a laugh and a shudder. "Think zombies are susceptible to aneurisms from constant annoying?"

"Probably just makes them more homicidal," I point out.

She laughs. I love her laugh. It's actually worth it to get knocked out in a sewer by a reanimated corpse just to have her sit by my bedside and laugh. I'm a sick person. "What about you?" I ask, "Are you sure you wanna go tomorrow?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Nobody would blame you if you needed to take a little time after Sunnydale." I don't bring up her dead friends because we both know what I mean.

She looks away for a moment, clearly sad. "I'm dealing. Maybe doing a little repressing." She looks back at me. "Right now I just gotta keep moving, you know?"

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I am," she assures me. "Get some sleep. We'll head out in the morning."

"Sounds good."

"You need anything?"

"Kiss for my booboo?" I wiggle my eyebrows. Now I'm really pushing it. I've been trying to show her that I'm not the same person I was back in Sunnydale, and she's been way cooler about us being on the same team again than I expected. I'm trying to cheer her up with my antics, but it could easily backfire on me.

Buffy surprises me when she just rolls her eyes. "And we're back to the flirting. Now I know you're going to be fine."

"So that's a no then?" Since she's blowing it off, I keep it going.

"You know," she says thoughtfully, "one of these days, somebody's going to call your bluff. What are you gonna do then?"

Umm, probably have a spontaneous orgasm? Is she joking? "Why don't you call it and find out?" I ask, in my usual cocky tone. I don't really expect her to do anything, but my heart beats a little faster all the same. Buffy's never really played along with my games before.

B moves up the bed, and I swallow hard. She leans forward, closing the space between us. Her eyes are boring in to mine, and I can see her pupils are dilated. Is she really going to kiss me?

She licks her lips. "Where does it hurt?" She asks, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Having lost all ability to speak now, I manage to lightly tap my finger against my healing lip.

Buffy nods, closing her eyes.

I close mine too, lips parting slightly while I wait for her to bridge the final gap between us. I can't believe this is happening.

Buffy hesitates a hair's breadth from my mouth. "Gotcha," she whispers.

My eyes snap open to see her grinning widely. I can't believe she just did that. I can't believe I fell for it.

Without thinking about it, I lean forward and press my aching mouth against hers. Just for a moment, barely long enough to qualify as a kiss. "Gotcha back," I say.

Buffy blinks at me for a moment, and I get really nervous about what she's going to say. She licks her lips again, seeming a little flustered. I notice her cheeks are pink. In the few seconds of silence, I go off the deep end berating myself. Why did I do that? She was messing around, finally acting normal around me again, and I ruined it. She probably won't want me to go with her tomorrow. She's probably not even going to talk to me now. She thinks I'm an idiot. She's still grieving, and she doesn't need more stress from me.

"I guess now we know," Buffy mumbles. She doesn't seem angry.

"Know what?"

"What happens when somebody calls your bluff."

"Not everybody," I tell her. "Just you." Realizing too late how utterly pathetic this sounds, I try to play it off with a joke. "If Wesley tries that move on me, I'm gonna go full Nelson on him."

She smirks. "Glad I dodged that bullet."

"Yeah…"

I sit in supreme awkwardness, waiting for her to say something more. After a beat, she looks away and then stands up. "I'm gonna head to bed. See you in the morning?"

I nod, relieved she still wants me to go, and I haven't ruined everything. "Sure. Goodnight, B."

"Goodnight, Faith."

XXXXX

Slayer healing is one of the best parts of the gig. When I wake up in the morning, my head feels right as rain, and the gash on my chin is completely healed. I've got no qualms about what I decided to do last night. Part of it's Buffy, of course. I'm not going to let her go out there on her own. I'd never forgive myself if she didn't come back. But there's more to it than that. Angel may think these demons are more important than the kid, but I've got a different point of view. I used to think individual people didn't matter. That's what let me do the Mayor's dirty work for him. But I went to prison so I could get my head on straight, and that's what I did. I'm not gonna sacrifice somebody just because it's convenient for me. Not anymore. This kid is important to the Powers, and I'm gonna save him if it's the last thing I do. Given the state of LA, it may well be.

I zip my pack up and close my door behind me. Across the hall, Kim sits on her bed. I knock on the doorjamb. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," she says, gesturing for me to enter.

"I'm getting ready to take off," I tell her, sitting down beside her.

She gets right to the point. "I don't want you to go."

"Kim," I sigh, "I have to."

"Why?"

"You know why," I tell her patiently. "B and me are gonna go get that kid."

She sniffles a little.

"Hey," I say, sliding my arm around her. "What's this about?"

"You almost died last night," she points out.

"That? That was nothing." I rub her arm soothingly.

"It was not," she insists, turning to face me fully. "Faith, don't go."

I get that she cares about me, and it means a lot because I don't got a lot of people that do, but there's no way I'm gonna reconsider. "Look," I tell her, as reassuringly as possible, "I'm gonna be fine. I promise you. I'm coming back."

"You can't promise that," she grumbles, visibly upset.

"Lemme show you something." I stand up and put my leg on the bed next to her. Hiking up the leg of my pants, I show her the bite on my calf. "I'm practically indestructible, okay?"

She stares at my leg in amazement. "You're immune?"

I nod, reclaiming my seat. "So you know I _can_ make that promise."

"Something could still happen," she argues.

"But it's not gonna," I swear.

"But—"

"Kim," I cut her off. "I'm sorry, but this is something I have to do."

She swallows all her objections and forces a nod. "Alright."

"C'mere," I wrap her in my arms, holding her tightly. She holds back just as hard, her head on my shoulder. Her shoulders shake a little as she tries to hold herself together. "It's gonna be fine."

She nods into my neck, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

We pull apart, and Kim wipes at her damp cheeks. "Come back," she orders me fiercely.

"I will," I promise, and I'm certain it's one I can keep.

"Okay," she stands up. "I'll let you get going then."

I stand up too. "What, no good luck this time?"

She laughs. "I thought you didn't need luck?"

"Never hurts to have a little more." I grin, holding my arms out toward her.

She walks to the door and opens it for me. "Good luck."

"Thanks." I pick up my pack, sliding it on as I step into the hallway.

"I'll see you," she says, lingering in the doorway.

"See you real soon," I promise, laying my hand over hers. I give it a final squeeze and head down the hallway. I jog down the stairs, feeling pretty confident. Just a little search and rescue and I'll be back.

XXXXX

So… what did you think? :)


	14. Bedside Manner

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

"_See you real soon," I promise, laying my hand over hers. I give it a final squeeze and head down the hallway. I jog down the stairs, feeling pretty confident. Just a little search and rescue and I'll be back. _

Chapter 14: Bedside Manner

I never thought I'd consider the fact that all the freeways are full of stalled out cars and we can't go any faster than 20 miles an hour a _good_ thing. But when you have Buffy behind the wheel, trust me, it is. At least I like to live dangerously. Any normal person would have peed their pants by now. All the perception and acute visual and spatial skills that come with the slaying gig seem to be out the window when she gets behind the wheel of a vehicle. She barely manages to avoid hitting every car on the road. As it is, she almost hit a dog (sideswiped a stalled out tanker swerving around it), basically destroyed the front of Cordelia's car playing GTA with some zombies in the roadway, and knocked the driver's side mirror off going through a not super narrow hole between cars. She also seems to think you're supposed to steer directly into every pothole you see. I offered to drive, but Buffy reminded me I don't have a license, and that was that.

So now we're cruising along, looking like some driver's ed what _not_ to do video, on our way to hook up with some old friends. B filled me in on the rest of Cordelia's vision—she saw the little boy in a warehouse with a bunch of other people and some vamps. I know more of the type of human "safe house" me, Wes, and Kim ran into will have popped up by now. But something tells me Helmet-face and his crew are a good place to start. Besides, we've got unfinished business.

"Hungry?" I ask, reaching into my pack for some snacks.

"Starved," Buffy responds.

I've got the contents of a half empty vending machine stuffed in here, courtesy of the rest stop we just drove past, and I toss B a Snickers bar. A pitiful whine begins from the backseat, and I rummage around in the bag for a minute before I find some poptarts. Tearing the package open, I toss one into the backseat.

The dog, whose tag identifies her as Ginger, eagerly leaps on the poptart. I eat mine with slightly more restraint, shooting Buffy an irritated look. "I'm still hungry. Told you we shouldn't have picked the mutt up."

"We couldn't just leave her out there," Buffy argues. "She'd be eaten by a zombie!"

I could argue with her about how stupid it is to share our food supplies with this dog, or that she could outrun zombies anyway, or even what the hell we're gonna do with her when we get to the vamp compound, but I don't bother. Buffy reaches into the back and scratches Ginger between her ears, a soft smile on her face. If rescuing dogs is what gets her to smile like that, well, call me Faith the Dogcatcher.

A sudden swerve pulls me back to my senses. "B!"

"Sorry," she puts both hands back on the wheel and smiles at me sheepishly. After a quarter mile of reasonably safe driving, Ginger whines again, and Buffy says, "Faith, more poptarts!"

Oh, for God's sake. I dig around the bag, unearthing another pack. This time I give both to the dog. She gobbles them up and licks her chops, looking for more. "That was the last pack," I tell her firmly.

Buffy's slows the car down, scrutinizing the area carefully. "That one?" She asks, pointing to one of the nondescript buildings.

I don't have to ask how she knows; I can feel my senses tingling too. "That's it." I glance at the rough sketch Cordelia drew. A cute little boy stands in front of what looks like a paneled wall.

"So what's the plan?"

"Go in, kick ass, take the kid." I toss the sketch back in the bag.

"I guess the time in prison didn't improve your strategizing skills," Buffy says dryly, as she parks the car haphazardly.

Very funny. "You got something better?"

"Nope," she answers. "Let's make with the ass kicking."

We don't go for the subtle approach, just march up to the building and kick the door in. Two vamp guards burst into flames as the light filters through the open entrance. Squealing in pain, one manages to stop, drop, and roll into the shadows. The other one turns to dust.

"Oops," Buffy shrugs, grabbing the charbroiled vamp by the shirt and hauling him to his feet.

I lean into his face, smiling dangerously. "We need to see the boss."

The trembling vampire doesn't even protest, just leads us to the door in the back. He knocks and waits for a response.

"Yeah?" Comes the voice on the other side.

"Got somebody here to see Doug," our hostage trembles under Buffy's hands. Totally pathetic.

"Doug?" Buffy whispers, after we hear footsteps moving away from the door. "What kind of evil name is that?"

I give her an amused shrug while we wait for Doug's appearance.

He doesn't leave us hanging long. The door opens and Helmet-face appears, not looking entirely thrilled to see me. He recovers quickly though and flashes me a smirk. "Back so soon?"

I get down to business. "I'm looking for someone, and if you play real nice and tell me what I wanna know, maybe I won't kill you."

He laughs, flicking his eyes over to his henchman. "Let him go."

"Info first, negotiations later," Buffy says tersely.

"Why should I believe you?" He asks.

Buffy ponders this a moment before she looks at me. "Faith, why should he believe us?"

"Dunno, B, I probably wouldn't believe us."

"Yeah…" Buffy rams a stake through the chest of the henchman. As his dust floats to the floor, she shrugs apologetically and says, "I guess that leaves the hard way then."

I kick Doug's knees hard before he can step out of my way. Buffy follows through with an elbow to the back of his neck.

As he sprawls on the floor, my boot comes down on his head. He thrashes like a fish out of water.

"Little boy," Buffy tells him, "blonde, about ten. Where is he?"

"Like I'd tell you, fucking bit—" His words dissolve into a squeal of pain as I step fully onto his head.

"Watch your mouth," I growl before putting one foot back on the ground.

Buffy crouches down in front of the vamp's face and repeats herself, "Little boy. Blonde. Where is he?"

"I don't know!" Doug spits.

Buffy gingerly takes one of his hands in hers. "Is that the truth?"

"Yes."

"What do you think, Faith?" Buffy asks, still holding the vamp's hand.

"Think he's lying," I grind my boot into his face for good measure.

"I think you're right," Buffy says regretfully, and easily snaps one of his fingers.

"Fine!" Doug screams, thrashing again. "He was here! But he's gone now!"

"Gone better not mean eaten, Doug," Buffy warns, her hand cradling another of his fingers, "because I gotta tell you, we do _not_ like it when people get eaten."

"No, we do not," I agree.

"It doesn't!" Doug pants, trying to move his hand from Buffy's grip. "He left, safe and sound."

"Who's he with?" I demand.

"His father," Doug says. He's singing like a canary now. "Guy didn't want his kid paying the fee, so they stayed one night and then moved on."

"Where'd they go?"

"I don't know."

Buffy pries back his finger and Doug squeals, "Fine! The guy said something about Downey!"

"Thank you," Buffy says sweetly, releasing his hand to hop to her feet. "I think we've got what we need."

I take my boot off the vamp's head. He sits up, cradling his injured hand.

"Let's go," Buffy says, turning on her heel for the exit.

Doug lashes out suddenly, gripping Buffy's ankle and dragging her down.

I'm on him in a second, my stake finding his heart before he has time to make another move. Shaking his dust from my clothes, I lend B a hand getting up.

"Nice moves," she compliments.

I shrug, leading the way to the door. "You think we're gonna find this kid?"

"Yeah," she reassures me, leading the way outside…

…And right into hell.

Zombies are swarming our car, and I can hear Ginger barking inside. Buffy and I shrink back against the exterior wall of the warehouse. They haven't spotted us yet. "Crap," she mutters, "I should have listened to you. We won't be able to get to her, and she's going to die in—Faith!"

I'm running full speed at the car, having spotted an opening between the clawing bodies. I'm gonna get that damned dog out. I collide with the back door, my hand finding the handle immediately. Ginger's smarter than I thought, and she jumps out as soon as she smells freedom. I snatch my pack from the seat and charge after her, slapping away the pawing hands of the dead. A few of them have been bowled over by the rest, and they grab at me from the ground where they're getting trampled.

A hand hooks around my ankle, and I go tumbling to the ground. The zombie crawls toward me immediately, and I roll to get away. Something sharp on the ground slices through my shirt, cutting my abdomen.

Buffy's legs appear next to me, and she slams her sword through the neck of the closest zombie. She holds out her hand, and I take it, letting her yank me to my feet.

"What were you thinking?" she shrieks, stabbing another of them as we race away from the horde.

"Did you want the dog to die?" I yell back, looking around to make sure the poor thing actually made it. Sure enough, Ginger gallops along beside us, her long tongue flapping in the wind.

"No," Buffy shouts, "but I don't want you to, either!"

In spite of the warmth of my blood spreading across my stomach, I scoff. "I ain't checkin' out, B. It's a scratch!"

I can see her scowling at me, even though my vision is swimming a little bit. Maybe that scratch was deeper than I thought.

"Damn it, Faith," Buffy crams herself under my shoulder none too gently, wrapping an arm around my waist. "Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"Part of my charm?" We're jogging now, still a safe distance from the group behind us, but getting slower by the moment.

Buffy huffs as she pulls me up the street. "You know," she grits out, as my feet begin to go cold and I lean more heavily on her, "me saving your ass is becoming a habit."

I can't feel my lips when I try for a flirty smirk. "You like saving me, B, admit it."

She smiles a little but mostly she looks worried. In the road ahead of us, a few of the dead are shambling our way. Blood coats my shirt. It's like I've got a neon flashing "BUFFET" sign above my head. Buffy stops, adjusting her grip on me, and looks around. "Come on," she says, spotting something she likes. "Ginger!"

The dog follows at our heels as B pulls us both to a nearby fire escape.

"I need you to focus now, Faith," Buffy tells me urgently, "I don't think I can get you up these stairs."

Right. The fire escape dangles slightly off the ground. Buffy places my limp hand on the railing and nudges me forward. The sounds of moaning zombies reach our ears, and I try to look how close they are.

"Hey," Buffy shoves me forward, "don't worry about them. Move."

I drag myself up the first few steep stairs. Buffy presses in behind me, her strong hands on my waist, pushing and pulling at me. We advance up several more. On the ground, the dog barks sharply, alarmed.

"Keep going," Buffy encourages. With one arm around my waist, she practically heaves me forward onto the landing. My abdomen shrieks in pain when her forearm presses against me, and I drop to my hands and knees. Through the metal grating of the landing, I see Buffy leap back down the fire escape and snatch the dog into her arms. The zombies are almost on them. Buffy jumps onto the stairs, one hand grabbing the rails as she tries to hold the wriggling dog with her other arm. She plows straight up, depositing the dog on the landing next to me and moving immediately to yank the rusty stairs upward. The metal creaks and moans, but it budges, sliding slowly upward as she applies a little slayer strength.

The bodies on the ground reach upward, but it's too late. The ladder is out of their reach. My blood seeps through the grating under me, dripping onto the frantic dead people below. They moan happily, all shoving each other out of the way, trying to get to the falling blood.

"Sick," Buffy mutters. She walks across the landing to peer in a window. Satisfied with what she sees, she kicks through the glass and hops inside. While she's gone, the dog nudges me with her wet nose. Whining softly, she lays beside me. I thread my fingers into her fur, trying to stay conscious in spite of the pain in my abdomen and the blood I can feel sliding down my sides.

Buffy pokes her head back out the window. "All clear," she says, climbing out. "Let's get you inside and patched up."

I let her haul me up and help me through the window. The dog hesitates but jumps in after us, wagging her tail as she follows us. We're in somebody's apartment, and Buffy deposits me on the couch, immediately rooting through my pack for any first aid supplies. The supply is meager, but if Buffy's worried, she doesn't show it.

She tears my shirt open, and I want to make a crack about her wanting to see my tits. I love making her blush. But I'm so tired; I don't have it in me right now.

"Okay," she says with only the slightest tremor in her voice. "You're gonna be fine."

I glance down at my wounds. "Oh, my God!" There's a huge piece of flesh torn away, and I can see some pink stuff.

"It's nothing!" Buffy reassures me. "You're gonna be fine!"

"Easy for you to say," I cry, "that's not your uterus on display."

"That's not your uterus," Buffy scoffs, and then looks at my stomach thoughtfully. "No," she concludes, "definitely not uterus."

Buffy sprays a little antiseptic on a rag from my pack, and then mops away the blood around the perimeter of the gaping hole in my belly.

"Does it matter?" I wince. "I can see internal organs. That cannot be good."

"That's why I'm going to stitch you up," she replies in exasperation. Her bedside manner could use some serious work.

She threads a needle she's pulled out of the bag. "You've lost a blood; you should really be in a hospital."

"None of those anymore," I reply softly, closing my eyes as the needle pierces my skin.

"That's okay," Buffy sews carefully, her voice very calm. "You've got me."

I try to smile. "Maybe I can get you in a nurse's outfit."

Buffy lays a hand on my upper abdomen. "Maybe if you stay still long enough for me to finish."

Trying to keep still, I ball my hands into fists. I know she's not serious about that, but just the fantasy is enough to distract me from the pain.

XXXXX

When I wake up in the darkness, I don't know where I am. I stay very still, trying to use my other senses to determine my location and if there's danger.

"Hey," Buffy's voice comes from below me, and she flicks on a small flashlight. She's lying on the floor next to the sofa. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I croak. "How long have I been out?"

"A while," Buffy rustles around and then hands me a bottle of water. "The sun went down a few hours ago."

I gulp it down greedily.

"How's the stomach?" Buffy asks.

"Feels okay," I peel back the sheet I'm laying under and peer at my stitches. They're red and irritated, but definitely healing.

"Good," Buffy replies, flipping off the flashlight. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can see her pretty well without it. Buffy sits up, leaning her arm onto the couch next to me. "That was pretty stupid," she informs me, "saving the dog, I mean."

"Yeah," I agree.

Her hand slides across the couch to rest on my thigh.

"B?"

Her eyes meet mine in the dark. "Really stupid," she says, squeezing my leg lightly.

I sit up at the same time as she climbs onto the couch. We nearly bump heads. I hesitate just a moment before leaning in to kiss her.

Buffy responds enthusiastically, pressing against me. Her hand leaves my leg, reaching for my waist instead. My head's spinning, and it's hard to tell if that's from blood loss or Buffy. I've been fantasizing about this girl for two years; that's some heavy shit. It's probably her.

B squeezes me a little too tight, and my stitches tug. Wincing, I break the kiss.

"What?" She whispers. "Did I hurt you?"

"It's okay," I tell her. My hands are moving of their own accord across her back, and I'm trying to tell myself to slow down, be smart, talk to her. "What are we doing?" For the first time in my life, my brain wins over my libido.

Buffy hesitates, and I decide to say fuck my brain.

"You know what, I don't care," I reach for her, ignoring the pain in my stomach and kiss her hard. I don't know why B's suffering temporary insanity, but best to not wake her up from it.

"Faith," she mumbles against my mouth, "stop."

Fucking brain.

She studies me in the darkness, her little hands still grasping my waist. "I just… I want to feel something… good."

"I can do that," I promise softly, starting to draw her back into my arms.

"I think so, too."

I try to follow her logic. "Because I saved the dog?"

She smiles a little, trailing her fingers up my side and over my arms. "Among other things."

"I'm gonna give that dog all the poptarts she wants tomorrow," I vow before brushing my mouth across her neck.

Pressing back on my shoulders, Buffy guides me onto my back. She straddles my hips, careful not to hit my stitches, and buries her face in my neck.

I turn my head to give her better access. My whole body feels like it's singing. Buffy's tongue sweeps up the side of my throat to my ear lobe. She gets her teeth involved, nipping lightly.

I can't help myself; my hips buck up. My hands slide up her waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her belly.

B's hips push down against mine, slowly grinding. One hand's wound in my hair, pulling it sharply whenever I show any signs of moving away from her mouth. The other one glides down my bare side, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

My eyes are open, but I can't focus on anything except Buffy on top of me. The throbbing around my stitches is drowned out by the thrumming between my thighs.

My fingers move without me telling them to, tugging up on the back of her shirt insistently. When B sits up, she fits over me like a rider in a well-worn saddle, totally comfortable as she pulls her shirt over her head. She flips open the front clasp of her bra and tosses it aside without a second thought.

I'm practically drooling at her. She's the tiniest, most perfect thing. I pull her down, eager to get to her tits, and her jean-clad leg rubs against my stitches. "Fuck," I sputter.

"Here, let me…" Buffy shifts, moving her knee and leaning over me so her boobs dangle in front of my face. Her displaced knee slides between my legs. Buffy's not shy; she presses right up against my pussy. My muscles tighten, and I have to stifle a moan. I squeeze her to me, crushing her tits against my face. My mouth finds one pink, pebbled nipple, and I give it a hard suck.

"Unf," Buffy exhales against my hair, pressing her knee insistently into me.

She pulls away too soon, and I want to protest. But Buffy's flicking open the button on my jeans and unzipping the fly. She slides her fingers beneath my underwear and goes right for the kill, managing to slide two fingers inside me.

"Fuck," I cry out, "God, B."

She bites her lip and smiles.

Not about to be shown up, I grasp the fly of her jeans and yank it apart. Her button goes flying, and the pants split wide open. Grinning at her shocked expression, I slip inside her panties and find her clit.

"Mmm," Buffy moans, getting over her surprise rather quickly. With my free hand, I press down on her back so I can kiss her again. It's a bruising kiss; neither of us can get close enough.

Buffy's concentration falters when I start circling her clit faster. Her hips bump in rhythm with my movements. Tearing my mouth free, I bury my face in her throat. "You like that?" I ask, pleased by her reaction.

Never one to turn down a challenge, Buffy ups the ante. Her palm grinds down on my clit, her fingers stretching me wide as she manages to hit all my spots with one hand.

My head rolls to the side as I cry out. Buffy braces her free hand against the couch behind my head, fucking me slow but hard. My rhythm's all fucked up, my fingers slide directionlessly up and down her wet slit. I'm kissing her breasts, her shoulders, her fucking armpit, whatever I can reach. Buffy picks up the pace, and her nails scratch me a little as she fucks me. The pain is white-hot and searing, and it almost makes me come on the spot.

"Faith," Buffy demands above me, "I want you to come. Come for me."

That does it. My pussy clamps down on her fingers, and my thighs close around her hand like a vice. My whole body trembles as the orgasm cascades through me. My fingers curl reflexively in her panties, and Buffy's hips buck against them.

"Jesus," I say, when I can speak. Her pleased face looks down at me, fingers still tucked in my underwear.

She grins back. Her smile widens when I start moving my fingers again. I shove my hand further into her panties, jamming two digits in her without warning. B moans, leaning backward so she can press her pussy against my hand. "Deeper," she pants.

I oblige, thrusting my fingers as far into her as I can get. I maneuver my thumb to her clit, sliding over the sensitive flesh with every pump of my fingers. B bends further backward, bracing her hands behind her. Her legs are spread as far as they can with her tattered jeans still on. I sit up, wrapping my free arm behind her and supporting her back. The view ain't half bad either; her tits jiggle with every thrust.

With Buffy, I can pull out all the stops. No more worries about hurting someone with my slayer strength. I fuck her harder than I'd have dared with anyone else.

She's chanting my name like a prayer, and it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I kiss and lick the sweaty skin of her stomach while I piston my fingers in and out of her hot, wet pussy. It's fucking heaven. I don't care if I pop every stitch in my stomach doing it.

"God, Faith," Buffy moans as her body starts to tense up. Her knees grip either side of my legs. Her tits jut upward as she throws her head back. "Faith!" She almost wails as her pussy squeezes my fingers rhythmically.

She collapses back against my legs, her body bent like a gymnast's. I slowly ease my hand free of her underwear, leaving my sticky fingers resting on her mound.

The throbbing in my abdomen starts to drift back into my consciousness, and I ease myself back against the couch. I touch the wound with my clean hand, relieved to find it still closed.

"You okay?" Buffy asks breathlessly.

"Yeah," I assure her, "I'm perfect."

XXXXX

This chapter was posted a little early because I will be out of town during my usual posting time. :) Thank you very much to everybody that's left me such kind reviews. Reading them puts me in such a good mood—so good in fact that Tara may come out of this story alive! ;) I know a lot of people were enjoying the slow build up between B/F, so let me assure you, this chapter is totally heat of the moment. We're not done building yet. Please let me know what you thought! :D


	15. Losses and Gains

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

**Omega Rising **

_The throbbing in my abdomen starts to drift back into my consciousness and I ease myself back against the couch. I touch the wound with my clean hand, relieved to find it still closed. _

"_You okay?" B asks breathlessly._

"_Yeah," I assure her, "I'm perfect."_

Chapter 15: Losses and Gains

When I wake up, Buffy's bare toes are poking into my chin. She's half on top of me, her head resting on my calf. There's 60 pounds of well-muscled German Shepherd sleeping on my chest, snoring her dog breath right in my face.

"Ginger," I growl, and the dog lifts one furry eyelid to peer at me. "Off," I say sternly.

She goes, but not before yawning in my face.

A quiet chuckle comes from the other end of the couch, and I look down to see Buffy smiling at me through her messy hair. "Morning," she murmurs.

"Hi," I respond as she pulls herself into a sitting position.

"How's the uterus?"

"Very funny," I tell her, letting my fingers run over the bumpy stitches in my skin. "Feels alright."

"Let me see," Buffy leans forward to study her handiwork, and I get a nice view down her shirt. She hasn't put her bra back on. "Yeah, I think you'll live." She climbs off the couch, holding her ripped jeans up with one hand. She pads across the room and disappears behind a wall, leaving me alone with the dog.

Ginger's ears perk up in interest when I unzip my pack. Unfortunately, we're out of poptarts and I'm just looking for a cleanish shirt. I find a rumpled t-shirt and tug it down over my head. It's not the freshest, but at least it's not covered in blood. My abdomen aches a little, but I feel stronger. I'm ready to move on.

B reappears, carrying an unopened box of Cheerios. "Breakfast," she says cheerfully, holding it out to me. I take it, tearing it open immediately and tossing back a handful. I'm starving.

Buffy rummages in my pack for a moment before she pulls out an extra pair of pants. Without a word, she kicks off her shredded jeans and steps into my pants. They're a little loose, but manageable.

"Sorry to take your only other pair," Buffy tells me, "but you kind of ruined my jeans."

"Uh yeah," the cheerios stick in my throat a little as I swallow, "about last night…"

Buffy meets my eyes. "It was fun."

"Well, yeah," I agree. That's not in dispute.

Sitting beside me, Buffy lays her hand on my leg.

I look at her curiously, anxious to hear what she's gonna say.

"Faith," B uses her gentle voice, "I know you used to have a thing for me. Maybe you still do."

Well, _this_ is not what I was expecting, but I don't bother to deny it.

"Things have been so intense… and I really needed someone last night, and you were there for me." She squeezes my leg softly.

I maintain my exterior calm even though I'm starting to feel vaguely nauseous. "It's cool. You needed to scratch an itch. I get it."

"No, that's not what I meant," Buffy protests.

"B," I take her hand and move it off my leg. "It's okay. You don't gotta explain."

Buffy huffs in exasperation. "I'm just trying to say—last night was amazing—I just don't really know what that _means_ right now."

"Okay," I agree quickly, eager to end this conversation. I thrust the cereal box at her. "You should eat something. Gotta get a move on."

She stares at me for a moment and then accepts the box. "Alright."

"I'm gonna see how things look outside." I quickly make my way across the room without waiting for a response. Climbing out the window, I stand on the landing of the fire escape. It's a beautiful day, warm and sunny. If I just squint over the tops of the nearby buildings, I can almost imagine the world's still normal. There's no use in pretending, so I look down to check out the situation on the ground. Only two of the dead are wandering around the street. Looks like the exit is clear, if we make a quick getaway.

The landing creaks behind me as Buffy climbs out the window. She steps behind me, intending to join me at the railing. Without any conscious decision on my part, I find myself turning and grabbing her biceps with both hands. I yank her forward, pressing my mouth against hers.

The truth is that no matter how nonchalant I managed to act in front of her, I feel like she ripped out my heart this morning. I've wanted her so long, I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to spend one night with her and then act like it never happened.

She lets me pull her flush against me, our breasts crushed together. There's no great technique to this kiss, no elegance whatsoever; there's just me kissing her with clear desperation. I'm humiliating myself, but I can't seem to let go.

Buffy cups my face in her palms, slowing things down.

Getting a hold of myself, I abruptly let go. "Sorry," I say, "I'm sorry. You don't want me to kiss you."

"It's okay," B replies, her hands settling on my waist. "I did want you to." She looks as confused as I feel.

We stare at each other, and I try to understand what she's thinking and feeling. Try as I might, I'm completely in the dark. As much as I could sit here all day hoping for enlightenment, we're still the slayers and there's still a kid who needs us. So I step back, and her soft, small hands fall away from my hips. It's time to go.

XXXXX

We backtrack to the car, and fortunately, without the allure of the dog, the dead have scattered. With Buffy behind the wheel, we're soon cruising down the freeway again. Ginger naps peacefully in the backseat, not bothered by the warm Fall air blowing in the window and through her fur.

"How are we gonna find this kid?" I ask out loud, as Buffy navigates the exit for Downey.

"I don't know," she admits. "I'm hoping we'll stumble on them, I guess."

Sounds like a _great_ plan. I'm less excited that I agreed to come on this trip with every passing second. I keep my mouth shut about it. Buffy and I haven't talked much since we left the apartment. It's not the most uncomfortable we've ever been around each other, but it ranks pretty high up on my list.

B steers us slowly through the streets, and we both keep a look out for anything that would help us find this kid. The town is devoid of people, well, living people anyway. There are zombies dragging themselves around, and the sound of our engine causes them to fix their hungry eyes on us. We go as slowly as we dare, and now Ginger sits up in the backseat, whining softly. I don't blame the poor thing; she's gotta be terrified after being trapped in the car yesterday.

The zombies thin out some as we drive out of the residential area. The tree cover is becoming thicker, and I strain to peer through it as we go by. I don't see how we're going to run into this kid. It's not like they'd be stupid enough to just be walking down the street. I'm about to tell B as much when something catches my eye through the trees. "Wait!" I call out, and Buffy slams on the brakes.

"Did you see something?"

"I think so. Can you back up?"

Buffy slowly reverses, crunching over some debris that could easily pop our tires. I wince, but don't say anything. I'm looking for what I think I saw through a break in the trees.

"There! Do you see that?"

Buffy squints uncertainly. "That building?"

I nod enthusiastically.

"What about it?" Buffy's confused.

"The panels," I explain. The whole thing is made of gleaming, white panels.

"I don't get it."

Popping open the glove box, I grab Cordelia's drawing. "Look familiar?"

B takes in what we thought was wood paneling in Cordy's sketch. "Nice eye," she compliments.

I shrug, but I can feel my cheeks getting warm. "Think it's worth a look?"

"Definitely." She puts the car back in drive.

Up the road a little further, we come to a driveway. A large sign welcomes us to the Columbia Memorial Space Center. I can't say I feel too excited to visit, what with the bloody handprints smeared along the bottom.

At the entrance, we get out, and I toss Buffy an ax. She catches it easily and wields it like the pro she is. I jiggle the handle of the first door and I'm surprised when it swings open easily. "After you," I say, holding it open for B.

She holds her weapon at the ready and passes through. I'm close behind her as we move silently through the deserted lobby. Striding to the information desk, Buffy plucks a map from the basket. She looks it over as I keep an eye out for intruders.

"What do you think?" She whispers.

I glance at the map. "Café?"

"I think so, too." B pockets the map, and we're moving again. She leads the way, past the flight simulator, a room full of darkened television screens that invites us to watch NASA Live, and half a dozen other dark and deserted exhibits. From the robotics lab, a figure suddenly falls through the doorway. Its hand grapples for Buffy's ankle, and she brings her ax down through its wrist quickly. Undeterred, the zombie crawls closer, trying to get its mouth to her leg. B rolls her eyes, quickly bringing the business end of her ax to the back of its head.

The zombie goes still, and we step past without missing a beat. When we reach the doors to the café, we find them locked tightly. Applying a little of the old slayer strength, I snap the lock easily. Unfortunately, there's furniture piled to the ceiling on the other side.

Buffy and I each take a side, quickly moving through the haphazard stack. As we reach the final layer, Buffy touches my arm. "Stay covered," she tells me quietly, "whoever is on the other side may not like us breaking in."

"Gotcha."

We work together to clear a space big enough for a person to slip through. I step through before B can offer to go first. I can hear some scuffling on the other side of the furniture, so I stick one arm through first and wave my open palm. "I'm gonna step in now," I call out quietly. "I'm not infected and I'm not going to hurt you, so just take it easy."

There's no response from the other side, so I have no choice but to go in blind. I slowly emerge from behind the stacked tables and peer into the room.

The boy from Cordelia's vision crouches under a table, his large, frightened eyes staring up at me.

"Hey," I say in my friendliest tone, trying to let him see he doesn't have to be scared. I walk slowly toward him and look under his table. "It's okay; you can come out."

A loud click behind me makes me slowly turn away from the kid.

"Get the hell away from my son," a frightened voice commands me. The boy's father holds a small pistol, gripping it with both hands, barrel trained on my chest. He's a slight man, thin and wiry, with round glasses.

I hold my hands up and step away from the table. "Be cool," I tell him.

"Who the hell are you?" He demands. "How did you get in here?"

I don't bother answering because Buffy pops up beside the man before he notices her movement. In one fluid motion, she brings the side of her hand down on his arm and causes him to lose his grip on the gun. Her arms encircle him before he can go after it.

"Dad!" The little boy flies toward his struggling father.

As his son collides with his legs, the man goes still in Buffy's arms.

"We're not going to hurt you," I say reassuringly, nodding at B to release him. "We're here to help."

He rubs his neck as Buffy steps back from him. Reaching down, he scoops his child into his arms and holds him protectively.

"Who are you?" He demands, clearly afraid. "Vampires?"

B and I exchange amused glances. "No, definitely not."

"Then what?"

"I'm Buffy," B offers, standing beside me. She touches my arm. "This is Faith."

Social conditioning wins out over desire to appear tough, and the man grudgingly offers his name. "I'm Jacob." He shifts the little boy clinging to his neck. "This is Ben."

"Nice to meet you, Jacob," Buffy greets him calmly.

His eyes flick back and forth between us, obviously deciding whether to flee.

"Jake," I say, drawing his attention to me. "We came here because we were looking for you and your boy." I slowly reach in my pocket and take out Cordelia's drawing.

He takes it, staring at the rough sketch of his son. "Where did you get this? Who sent you?"

Buffy takes a deep breath and gives him our story. He's probably going to think we're nuts.

"You're crazy," he says vehemently, when she's finished.

"No," she replies quietly, "I'm not. Look around you, Jacob. The dead are up and walking around. You met real live vampires. Does this really sound so crazy?"

"But why us?" He asks. "What do you want with my son?"

"We don't know," I tell him. "We just took the message."

Trying to keep everyone at ease, Buffy slides her ax into her belt and takes a seat at a nearby table. "Why don't you tell us a little about your family and maybe it'll become clearer."

Hesitantly, Jacob joins her, placing Ben in a chair beside him. I take the last chair and smile at the kid.

He looks back shyly, with the slightest upturn in the corner of his mouth.

"There's not much to tell," Jacob smoothes back his curly hair. "We're from the city. We came to Downey because my parents live here. I thought maybe..." he clears his throat, "maybe we could find them. I didn't know what else to do."

B nods sympathetically.

I trust her ability to get to the bottom of it, so I tune them out and make funny faces at the kid. He giggles and then quickly hides his smile behind his hands. I raise my eyebrows at him and mirror his movement.

I can see the smile in his eyes as he wiggles his hand up and down.

I do likewise, still copying him, and he laughs.

Jacob gives me a strained smile when he sees his son actually grinning. Continuing his story, he tells us, "At first, I tried to stay in the city. I worked at the CDC, and my team and I… well, we thought we were getting close to understanding the infection."

That gets my attention and I look at B. She's looking right back in surprise.

"It's not the kid," she says, and I nod in agreement.

"What do you mean?" Jacob asks.

"I think we were looking for you all along," B tells him. "Our friend had another vision. There might be a cure for this thing."

"A cure?" Jacob repeats incredulously.

"Yeah," Buffy says, smiling widely now. "A cure."

XXXXX

After getting Ginger and our packs from the car, we decide to spend the night in the café before we head for the Hyperion again. Jacob doesn't like the idea of getting stuck out there after sundown, and I don't blame him. It's obvious he's been trying to keep things nice and calm for his kid. He's raided the gift shop, and Ben amuses himself for hours with their loot. He's got at least a dozen books. Me and Space. Cats Move to Space. Blah Blah Blah Mars. If he gets bored of that, there are shuttle models to build, coloring books of the planets, astronaut action figures, everything a kid could want. Everything outer space themed anyway.

The space center turns out to be pretty good for B and me too. Our host surprises us with a hot dinner. "Pluto burgers," he informs us, pointing to the menu mounted on the wall. "There's a back up generator still going. It keeps things frozen, and the stove's electric too."

I take a huge, hungry bite. "Why are we in a rush to get back again?" I ask Buffy, not caring if a few crumbs pop from my mouth.

"Something about the fate of the world, sacred calling, yadda yadda," she answers, digging in to her burger just as happily.

There's no running water, but there are cold bottled drinks in the refrigerator. "Diet Coke," Buffy practically moans as she opens it. "Sweet caffeine." I'm as pleased as she is to be eating real food again. And by that I mean delicious, fatty, heart attack inducing food. If the future doesn't have cheeseburgers, the zombies will have won.

After dinner, Jacob gives us a few space blankets. B and I move several yards away from his family, choosing to give them some privacy. Buffy picks a clear section of floor and spreads her blanket out, laughing when Ginger immediately settles herself on it. I stand there awkwardly. I'm thinking that after this morning, B probably wishes she could get some privacy too. "Uh, I'll just be over there," I gesture toward an empty corner.

Buffy looks up at me, and I can't read what she's thinking on her face. "Don't be silly," she says, "I need to check your stitches."

"They're fine," I assure her.

"Faith, sit."

Okay then. I plop my bag down, piling my blanket on top. I sit down, trying to leave plenty of space between us so I don't do anything stupid like I did this morning.

Buffy reaches for my shirt, getting ready to pull it up, and then pauses. "Is it okay if I check this out?" She asks.

"Nothing you haven't seen," I tell her, lying down on my back.

Her cheeks flush a little pink, and I wonder if that's good or bad. She could be remembering last night, or she could be wishing a hole would open up in the ground and swallow her. Which is sort of how I feel now that I said that.

Her fingers gently peel back my top, and prod along the pink line in my stomach. "Feels okay?" She asks, and I notice her gaze has drifted to the left, to the other scar I have.

"It's fine," I tell her, taking the hem of my shirt and pulling it back down.

She retracts her hand, letting it fall in her lap. Fluffing her pack up to be a pillow, she lays down beside me.

"Do you wanna share my blanket?" I offer, retrieving it from my pack. It's getting a little chilly in here. B nods, so I spread it over both of us. Ginger settles somewhere around our feet, curling herself into a ball.

It's quiet from the area where Jacob and Ben are resting. There's only the gentle hum of the generator and an occasional howl of the wind outside to break the silence. Buffy rustles around, trying to get comfortable. Our packs have cans and water in them; they don't exactly make good pillows.

After a few minutes of this, I'm ready to smack her. "B," I say in exasperation, "sit up."

"Why?" She asks, but she does so.

I shove her pack away, and put my arm in its place. "Lay down," I instruct. Buffy's surprised to find my bicep under her cheek, but she doesn't move away. I curl my arm around her shoulder, holding her loosely. "Is that better?"

She's quiet for a moment, then she responds. "Yes," she says simply. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." I close my eyes again, intent on getting a lot of sleep before we have to go back to the crappy outside world tomorrow. Beside me, Buffy's breathing is even and comforting. She's warm, and her breath tickles my arm gently. After a few moments, she slides closer, her arm draping across my stomach. I'm not about to protest if she wants to get cuddly. There ain't a whole lot of joy left in the world right now. I'll take what I can get. My arm tightens around her reflexively. Listening to her breathing, I fall asleep.

XXXXX

We make it back to the hotel without incident. The garage appears deserted when we pull in, but you never know what the shadows may be hiding.

"This is it?" Jacob asks nervously. Ben sleeps in his lap, and Ginger snuggles into his side.

"Home sweet home," I reply, my eyes scanning the darkness for signs of movement. Buffy kills the engine and steps out, ax already in hand.

I grab my pack, slinging it on to my back as I quietly close my car door. B joins me, and I open the door for our companions.

"Just stay between us," Buffy orders quietly, when she sees how frightened Jacob is.

He nods, holding Ben close in his arms. B grabs the duffel bag with their belongings and slings it over her shoulder. "Ginger," she says commandingly, and the dog slinks out to stand at her side.

Leading the way toward the backdoor, Buffy moves quietly and quickly. Nothing attacks us on the way, and for once it seems like we're getting a break. At the door, Buffy raps hard, three times. The same signal we used in Sunnydale. Footsteps sound on the other side, and the door is pulled open.

Spike looks out at us, surprise written all over his face. "You made it?"

"Hi, Spike," Buffy greets sarcastically, "great to see you too."

"Uh, right," the vamp steps aside. "Come in." He nods a greeting at Jacob and then sees Ginger striding in after them. Practically licking his chops, Spike remarks, "And you brought dinner!"

I shove past him, letting my elbow land in all the wrong places. "You touch one hair on that dog, you're dust."

He sighs as he closes and secures the door. "What's a man got to do around here to get some fresh food?"

As we reach the lobby, Wesley and Tara come out of the office. They greet us with warm hugs, and Buffy makes the introductions.

"Nice to meet you," Tara says kindly, and then touches Wesley's arm. "I'll get Angel." Something passes in their gaze. Wonder what that was about.

"How were things here?" Buffy asks, as Tara leaves. "Did you guys find the Mohra?"

"Yes," Wesley says. "We froze the bulk of the blood, and we've got some fresh and ready."

"You killed it?" Buffy asks.

Spike sighs. "Well, I wanted to keep it locked in the basement and hack off an arm every time we needed refreshing, but Angel's a little squeamish about torture."

"He made the right call," Buffy says, rolling her eyes at Spike's words. "Well, that's great."

Spike and Wesley exchange glances. Why is everyone being so tightlipped? "Okay, what's going on?" I ask.

Wesley looks grave. "There have been some unfortunate developments with the blood. It doesn't work exactly as we expected."

Buffy frowns. "What's that mean?"

"It means we can't use the blood once the infection's complete," Spike says matter-of-factly.

"It doesn't work on them?" I ask. "Why, is the decay too advanced?"

"No, it heals the body. As good as new," Wesley answers.

"So what's the problem?"

Wesley shakes his head. "Once a person dies, their soul moves on. We expected the blood to restore them completely, but evidently, it doesn't work like that."

"It's only meant to regenerate the Mohra," Spike adds. "And demons don't have souls."

Buffy swallows, looking upset. "So the blood can't restore their souls. How did you find this out?" We're both hoping that Wesley isn't going to say they actually used this on someone.

Wesley tilts his head toward the office. "His name is Michael."

Buffy and I take this in for a moment. Jacob just looks confused.

After a moment, B says, "He's just walking around the hotel? I mean, is that safe?"

"So far he hasn't tried to hurt anyone," Wes replies.

"But you think he will?" I ask.

He nods. "It can only be a matter of time. A human being with no soul has nothing to stop him from acting on his darkest urges. No sense of morality or empathy."

"Hey," Spike butts in, offended, "that's not true of all of us. You humans, always so snotty about your souls."

"Which is why we're giving him a chance," Angels says, arriving with Tara to meet us in the lobby. He steps forward to hug first B and then me. He squeezes me a moment.

"Hey," I laugh, hugging him hard, "I'm okay, big guy."

"I know," he says, embarrassed, and releases me.

Buffy introduces Angel to Jacob and Ben. "Jacob worked for the CDC," she adds. I can tell by the tone of her voice how pleased she is to point this out. She was right about going to find the kid, and now Angel will have to see it.

Before Angel can respond, Jacob clears his throat. "I don't mean to be rude," he says, "but where could my son and I settle in?" I notice now that Ben is sleeping in his dad's arms, clearly weighing the thin man down.

"Tara," Angel asks, "would you mind showing them a room?"

Tara agrees, quickly leading our new guests away.

"So," the vampire says, once they're gone, "it was a successful trip."

"Well, Faith almost got eaten," Buffy tells them, shooting me a smirk.

"Buffy still can't drive," I add. "Cordelia's gonna be pissed when she sees her car."

Angel blanches.

"What?" I ask. Looking around, I see the rest of the crew looking stricken. "What happened?" My hands and feet feel cold as anxiety washes over me.

"The hotel was breached," Wesley tells us, forcing his eyes to meet mine.

"Cordelia's dead?" Buffy asks, already knowing the answer.

Nodding tightly, Angel starts speaking. I hear him add Simone and Mr. Noble to the list of the dead. After that, the rushing of blood in my ears drowns him out.

"Where's Kim?" I demand. It's clear that I cut Angel off mid sentence, but I don't care.

"Faith," Angel's voice is gentle and he takes a step toward me.

I step back quickly, knocking into Buffy's shoulder. "Where is she?"

"I'm so sorry," Angel responds, dropping his hand. "She's gone."

The words echo over and over in my mind, but I can't understand what he's saying. "Where is she?" I ask again.

"Faith," Wesley stands beside Angel, gazing at me with watery eyes. "She's dead."

Dead. _Dead_. She can't be dead. I shake my head. Distantly, I'm aware of Buffy's hand on my arm. _Dead_.

All the anxiety and stress of the past few days suddenly drain away from me. In their place is a feeling I'm all too familiar with. Anger, hot and liquid, rushes through every vein in my body, and the room comes back in to focus. "Where were you?" I ask, with complete calm in my voice.

"We were out looking for the demon," Angel admits, his eyes doing all the apologizing his mouth hasn't had a chance to do yet.

All eyes in the room are on me, as I take this information in. Looking for the demon. The two strongest fighters in the room were out looking for a demon, and they left her here unprotected._ I_ left her here. I told her she would be safe here. I told her I'd be back for her.

My vision swims dangerously, and I blink hard, bringing Angel back into focus. Not my fault. _His_.

"Son of a bitch!" I scream, launching myself at him. Angel tumbles to the ground, with me on top. "This is your fault!" He tries to dodge my flying fists as I pummel his face.

"Faith!" Buffy is shrieking, her arms around my waist as she tries to drag me off. I swat her away like she's a fly, barely aware of her. I'm completely focused on the bleeding vampire under me. I'll make him pay. I'll make him fucking pay. Kim is dead. Dead. _Dead dead dead _and he let her die.

Buffy's back, this time grabbing my hips and flinging me off Angel. I leap back to my feet, glaring at her. "Stay out of my way, blondie."

"No." She wipes a little blood from the corner of her mouth. "I won't."

I try to dodge her, intending to leap on Angel again, but B intercepts me, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggle violently against her, kicking and thrashing. Over the sound of my own shouting, I hear her tell Spike to get Angel out of the room.

"No!" I howl, fighting twice as hard now. "You're not fucking leaving!"

"Stop," Buffy commands me, holding on with all her might.

I dig an elbow in her ribs, slam my foot on her instep and viciously throw my head back, trying to crack her fucking skull open. _Dead dead dead and gone no more Kim no smiles no singing no frying pans. _I keep moving, but Buffy has a vice grip on my arms. _Dead things gnawing at her skin as she cries out. _Did she call for me? Did she die wondering why I wasn't here to protect her? Angel's long gone, but I'm still screaming out obscenities. My face is hot and wet, and finally my limbs fail me, leaving me slumped against Buffy.

_Dead. _

Buffy's holding me, and we're on the cool tile floor. Wesley sits beside us, wiping back his own tears.

_Dead and gone and she's never coming back._

"Shh," Buffy rocks me in her arms. Blood drips from her nose and into my hair.

_Kim's body, bitten and chewed, her fingertips twitching as they ripped into her._

I hiccup and swallow back the bile in my throat. Buffy smoothes her hand over my tangled hair. "I know," she says, her hands gentle on my shaking body. "I know."

XXXXX

This is what Lorne saw. I know a lot of people saw the writing on the wall for Kim, and obviously you were right. I did toy with letting her live and wrote a scenario in which that could happen, but ultimately, this one feels best. Well, maybe not to you… :) Thoughts?


	16. Chicago

A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills. A profuse thank you to my lovely, patient girlfriend, Katy, for her willingness to help me brainstorm, attempts at teaching me how to appropriately use commas, and her support. And last but not least, thank you to those of you who reviewed, especially Rioshix, Kaylee, Avarenda, Micktrex, riterevrenzee, Squeeockle, Liz, Mione, and my dear friend Topak. You reviewed every, or nearly every chapter, and I appreciated that immensely.

**Omega Rising **

_I hiccup and swallow back the bile in my throat. Buffy smoothes her hand over my tangled hair. "I know," she says, her hands gentle on my shaking body. "I know."_

Chapter 16: Chicago

I'm running as fast as I can, but I know it's not going to be fast enough. I have a pack of the dead behind me, closing the gap between us. I can feel their swollen fingers brushing the back of my shirt. Every breath I suck in to my aching lungs is rancid, polluted by the decaying bodies all around me. I don't know where my friends are; I'm alone in this field. Screaming for help is fruitless; there's no one here to hear my cries.

My toe catches on something buried in the ground, and I go sprawling forward. Frantically clutching at the grass, I will myself back to my feet. I have to get away. This is not how it ends for me. There's so much more I want. So many things I never got the chance to do.

A guttural moan behind me makes my blood run cold. It's too late. I turn onto my back, ready to face my attackers… and then the world stops moving. The zombie that was about to tear my throat out is frozen in mid-air. Its jaws are wide open, its broken, brown teeth on display. Looking past him, I see the others are all unmoving. Even the trees are frozen, still bent by the breeze.

A flicker of movement catches my eye. At the tree line, there's a figure. Dark hair and a face right out of my nightmares. She turns and runs into the forest, and I leap to my feet in pursuit.

Branches whip my face and arms as I chase her. Somehow, she stays just out of reach. She shouldn't be able to move this fast. My already exhausted muscles are screaming in protest as we run further and further. "Wait!" I yell at her retreating form. "Please, wait!"

She stops so suddenly I almost plow into her back.

Bending at the waist, I desperately try to catch my breath. When I straighten up, she's facing me.

The world around her blurs until only she is clear. Her dark eyes bore into mine, and she says one word, "Chicago."

"What?" I ask, but she's already blurring into the background. "Kim!" I shout, trying to grab her hand.

Her fingers touch mine for the briefest moment, and she whispers again, "Chicago."

"Please don't go," I cry, but she's gone, and I'm alone in the forest.

XXXXX

Gasping for air, I sit up in bed. Buffy's kneeling beside me, her hands holding my arms.

"Jesus, Faith, are you okay?" She asks.

I nod, trying to catch my breath. Buffy's hands drop, and she sits back on her heels, waiting for me to speak.

"Chicago," I say finally.

Puzzled, Buffy waits for me to elaborate.

"That's what she told me."

"Who?"

"Kim."

Buffy's brows crease in concern. "Oh, Faith, you had a nightmare." Her palm squeezes my knee gently.

"I don't think so," I argue, placing my hand over hers. Not that I don't appreciate B's concern, but I'm feeling a little out of sorts. Don't need to be touched right now.

"You think it was a slayer dream?" Buffy asks, understanding what I mean.

"With Cordelia dead, the Powers gotta contact us somehow."

"But 'Chicago?'" Buffy asks skeptically. "That's all they gave you to go on?"

I nod, feeling nauseous. I get that the Powers need a line to us now, but did they have to use _her?_

"Okay," Buffy replies firmly, "Chicago it is."

Ever since my meltdown last week, B's been real supportive. Backing me up without question, giving me the space to be by myself and away from the rest of the gang. "Thanks," I tell her, gripping her hand for a moment.

"Yeah," she shrugs. "We'll tell the others in the morning."

"Okay."

Buffy looks at me in the darkness of the room. Even in the shadows, I can tell she's concerned. I've been practically hiding in this room since we got back here. I want to go downstairs and be involved with things again, but I just can't. It hurt me to put down Starla. My heart ached for B when she lost Xander and Giles. But none of it broke me like Kim. I promised to protect her, and she looked at me like she knew I'd keep that promise. She believed in me. And I let her down. I got a lot of blood on my hands, but this one… it's got kick. She's up there with my watcher.

"You want me to stay here for a while?" B asks quietly.

I nod, and she lies down next to me. We stare at the ceiling together. Silent tears trickle from my eyes, sliding backward into my hair. Buffy's fingers touch my arm, warm and reassuring. Alive.

XXXXX

Angel's office has been converted into a lab for Jacob, and he's been spending almost every waking moment in there, studying the blood samples we got from the Mohra. When we walk in, Spike is studying a tube of blood over a Bunsen burner and he holds up a hand for us to wait a moment. After a beat he says, "Okay." Jacob switches off the burner and pours a blue chemical into the vial with expert precision.

"Thanks," he says absently to Spike.

"No problem, doc."

"Nice goggles," Buffy compliments the vamp. "They really bring out your eyes."

Spike frowns while he removes his eyewear.

"Those are safety goggles," Jacob informs us in a long suffering tone, "and I need Spike's eyes safe."

Spike actually makes quite the little lab assistant. Without all the equipment he needs, Jacob relies on the vampires' enhanced senses to pinpoint exact temperatures and detect minute changes to the blood as he conducts his experiments. I guess B and I could help with this too, but neither of us has the patience to sit here and smell tubes of blood for hours.

"Where's Angel?" Buffy asks, properly chagrined by Jacob's words.

"He's with Gunn, doing a perimeter check," Spike tells us. "Something going on?"

"The Powers have re-established contact," she replies. "Faith had a slayer dream."

"I'll find them." Spike disappears through the door.

In the lobby, Tara, Wesley, and Michael are playing cards with the kids. The watcher looks up when I plop on the sofa near them. "Did I hear that right?" He asks. "A slayer dream?"

"Yep," I reply, giving Michael a once over. He's very quiet and has given me no real reason to distrust him, but Wesley's earlier words of warning are never far from my mind. Plus the dude just makes my slayer sense tingle.

The vampires enter the room, followed closely by Gunn.

Angel wastes no time. "You had a slayer dream?"

As much as I still resent him and blame him for Kim's death, this isn't the time to act on that, so I nod. "Yeah. Apparently there's something we need to do in Chicago."

"They didn't say what we're looking for?"

"No, that was it."

"Okay, Chicago…" Angel trails off and looks around the room. "What's in Chicago?"

"My wife," Jacob's voice draws everyone's attention. He's pale, his eyes focused on his son. "My wife was there when all this happened."

"I don't mean to be insensitive," Angel says carefully, "but I'm not sure the Powers would send us half way across the country to rescue your wife."

Jacob's eyes flash angrily. "She's a world renowned immunologist."

"Oh," Angel says, getting it now.

"Okay," Buffy interjects, "so Faith and I are going to Chicago."

I could argue that she didn't even ask me, but actually, it feels good that she thinks it's a given that we'll go together.

Before anyone can agree or object, a loud crash comes from the window near Gunn. A long, rotting arm snakes through, and the rest of its owner isn't far behind. Gunn has his sword at the ready, but another body smashes through the broken boards over the window. Two more are right behind them, and it shows no sign of slowing, even though we've all leapt in to fight. We aren't prepared; my ax is upstairs, and Buffy doesn't have her short sword.

Jacob is yelling, standing in the doorway to the office, separated from his son by three of the dead.

"Get him safe!" I shout to Spike, who nods and starts corralling the scientist into the office.

"No!" Jacob protests, trying to break free. "Benjamin!"

"I got him!" I assure him across the fray. Leaving the dead for the others, I pluck the crying Ben off the floor and cradle him in my arms. "Tara, you're with me!"

Tara nods, scooping Jennie up, and running alongside me to the stairs. I've never in my life run from a fight, but this isn't the time to be tough. That man downstairs is our best shot at coming out on top of this thing, and he's not gonna be any good to us if his kid gets eaten.

We run down the hall to my bedroom, and I slam the door behind us, flipping the lock. None of the dead have made it up here, as far as I know, but I'm not taking any chances. Ushering Tara into the closet, I deposit the now sobbing child beside her.

"You got them?" I ask.

Tara nods firmly. "Go. I'll keep them safe." She draws Ben into arms alongside Jennie.

"Daddy!" He's screaming. "Where's my daddy?"

"Ben," I say commandingly, and the kid actually pauses from wailing long enough to look at me. "I'm going to get your daddy, okay?"

He nods uncertainly.

"You just stay here with Tara for a couple minutes, okay? And then I'll be right back to take you to your dad."

Tara's voice is soothing and calm as she says, "Just a couple minutes, Ben. We'll wait here and keep you company, okay?"

"Okay," Ben nods, clearly still terrified.

"I'll be back," I promise, before I close the closet door. Shoving my dresser in front of it, I run back down the hallway.

A scream makes me pick up the pace. At the top of the staircase, I can see that the situation is almost under control. Spike and Wesley have shoved a table in front of the broken window and are piling more furniture behind it. The others are finishing off the last of the dead. The only person I don't see is Michael, but I guess being soulless doesn't motivate you to stick your neck out fighting for the group.

I let myself relax as I trot down the stairs to meet them. We're all okay.

Gunn's sword slices the last zombie in half at the waist, and it crumples to the ground.

"That was close," Buffy pants, winded from the fight.

Gunn's turning, his sword at the ready to put the half zombie out of its misery.

"Too close," Angel agrees.

The mangled creature on the floor reaches out with both hands. I can see it happening, but I can't get there in time.

"Gunn!" I shout, just as the zombie manages to sink its teeth into his ankle.

Crying out, he falls to the side. Buffy's there in a moment, plucking his sword from his hand and ending the zombie.

But it's too late.

"No!" Gunn cries, looking at his ankle in horror.

Angel springs into action. "Jacob!"

The door to the office flies open, and Jacob dashes out, taking in the scene. He looks to Angel.

"We need blood," Angel barks, and Jacob runs immediately to the office.

On the ground, Gunn begins to convulse. The color is draining from his skin, being replaced by blue and grey bruising. Angel drops to his knees beside him, and I run to join him.

"Hold on, Gunn," I tell him, gripping his shoulder.

He tries to focus, his bloodshot eyes rolling around in his head. "Help… me…"

"We will," Angel promises, his tone desperate. "We will, Gunn."

"I've got it!" Jacob runs toward us, as the dying man starts to shake.

Angel kneels at Gunn's feet, yanking his torn pant leg open.

"Just dump it in?" Jacob asks, looking to Angel.

"A little should do it," the vamp confirms.

Hesitating just a moment, the scientist tips the vial over the bite in Gunn's leg. The first few green drops hit the mangled flesh, and he pulls the vial back. The wound knits closed immediately as we look on.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

The skin below the bite illuminates brightly before the light races through Gunn's body. He sits up with a gasp.

"That's incredible," Buffy says, taking in Gunn's healthy coloring and clear eyes. She looks at Angel. "That's what happened to you?"

"Yes," the vampire says tightly.

Gunn pats himself all over with shock. "I'm okay. I'm alive!"

"He's alive!" Jacob laughs, clearly delighted by this turn of events. "We could do this for everyone who's bitten?"

"As long as we get them before they succumb totally," Angel reminds him.

"Maybe not having a soul isn't as big a deal as you think," I say. "Michael hasn't tried to hurt anybody."

Wesley and Angel exchange glances. "Not yet," Wes mutters.

Taking a more hopeful approach, Angel says, "If we could figure out how the Mohra blood works, we could stop the infection from taking over once a person is bitten. Or even make a vaccine from it."

The scientist appears a little crestfallen, but he says, "That's something. At least we could keep ourselves alive. And whatever survivors are out there, too."

We all take this in for a moment. I don't know if it's even possible with the limited resources we have now. But what choice do we have except to try?

Over dinner, Wesley brings up what we all know. "I don't think it's wise to stay at the hotel any longer."

Angel nods in agreement. "Wesley's right. It isn't safe here." His eyes meet mine. "We should have left after the first breach."

Not wanting to get into it, I quickly look away.

"Alright," Buffy agrees. "Where would we go? Do we have any ideas?"

"Wes and I have been talking about it," Tara pipes in. "We've got to get out of the city. Maybe head north. There's a lot of farm country up there, less zombies to worry about."

"What about Chicago?" Jacob asks tensely.

Buffy reassures him, "Faith and I are going."

XXXXX

Just when I'm finally alone in my room, there's a knock at the door. "Yeah?" I call out.

The door cracks open, and Tara looks in. "Mind if I come in?"

I wave her in, and she stands awkwardly by the dresser. "How are you doing, Faith?"

"Five by five, T." I get what she wants to talk about, and I am not in the mood.

"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am," she says, forging ahead in spite of me trying to nip this conversation in the bud, "about Kim."

I incline my head to acknowledge her, hoping that's all.

"I was with her," she murmurs, causing me to look up sharply. "We had just finished eating dinner, and we were cleaning up in the kitchen." She looks at the floor, blinking back tears. "We heard a crash and Cordelia screaming from the lobby. I ran to the door… we wanted to lock it, hide in there until it was over..." she trails off.

"Go on," I encourage, needing to hear the rest now.

"One of them got in and… Kim, she pulled me back, and i-it grabbed her. I tried to help her, but it happened so fast." She sniffles. "It bit her." Raising her teary eyes to mine, she says, "I want you to know I tried every healing spell I could think of. It just happened so fast," she repeats again.

I nod, swallowing over the lump in my throat. "Did you, uh, were you the one who put her down?"

Tara shakes her head. "Gunn ran down the back stairs into the kitchen. He got rid of the zombie, and he… t-took care of her." Tara brushes a few tears from her face. "I know how much she looked up to you, and I just thought you should know. She saved me."

I cross the distance between us, and wrap Tara in a hug. Her story actually did help me. I can stop imaging Kim being ripped apart now. I know it was quick, and that she had Tara with her. "Thank you," I rasp, feeling choked up.

"You're welcome," Tara says warmly, giving me a final squeeze before she lets go. "And Faith, if you ever want to talk…"

"I'll find you," I finish her thought. "Thank you, Tara. Really."

Tara nods, before leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I'm packing on autopilot, thinking of the strange journey we've all been on since the outbreak, when I hear a muffled scream from down the hall. What the hell can be wrong now?

I drop the pants in my hand, darting out my door and into the hall. Several yards ahead of me, I see Spike running toward a room. It's the one Michael's been staying in.

I run down the hall, the old floors of the Hyperion creaking under my furious steps. I hit the doorway seconds after Spike does. I see him grab Michael's shoulders, flinging him forcibly through the air. The man hits the mantle of the fireplace and crumples to the ground. On the bed, Spike kneels over a crying Tara.

"What the fuck happened?" I demand.

"He was choking her," Spike growls back, his hands carefully cupping Tara's neck. He inspects for bruises.

Wesley joins me in the doorway, touching my back as he brushes by, moving toward Michael.

Spike's helping Tara sit up, gently placing his arm around her shoulder. She's holding her hand over her throat. When she speaks, her voice is rasping. "I-I came to see if he was alright, because he missed dinner. I couldn't move, he grabbed me so fast."

"I'm guessing that was because you saw this," Wes says, gesturing toward a small stockpile of food on display in his top dresser drawer.

"That bastard," I say, annoyed. Food is scarce for all of us, and he's been stealing it. Then he attacks Tara so she doesn't let his secret out. "He can't have thought he'd get away with killing her."

"Poor impulse control," Wes reminds me. "It's the lack of soul. He won't have thought it out."

"Is he…?" I gesture toward Michael.

"Broken neck," Wes says. "He's dead."

I don't think any of us will be losing any sleep over that. Tara turns her tear-streaked face to Spike. "Are you okay, Spike?"

"I'm fine, love," he assures her.

"But your head," she says, puzzled.

Spike looks surprised. "The chip didn't fire."

Wesley thinks about this for a moment. "A person without a soul must register as on par with demons, as far as your chip is concerned."

"So you're saying I can eat him?" Spike asks eagerly.

"Eww," I mutter, imaging him sucking this dead dude's blood. "Come on, Tara, I'll walk you to your room."

"It's a perfectly valid question!" Spike argues.

"Have at it," I say, not caring either way as long as I don't have to see it. Tara stands up on shaky legs and I slip my arm around her. I guide her down the hall and into her room. I offer to get her some tea, but she says she's fine. I close her bedroom door, letting my hand linger on her door for a moment. I'm sure she's not fine. None of us are. That's just the way of the world now.

XXXXX

I'm reviewing my clothes, trying to decide what I need to take with me now that we're all going to leave. Buffy appears in my doorway. "Hey," she says softly.

"Hey," I stop folding clothes, and wave her in.

"What's up?" She asks, inviting herself to sit on my bed. "Packing?"

"Yeah." I abandon the packing, settling myself on the bed instead. Folding my arms behind my head, I lie back. "You didn't ask if I was up for Chicago," I point out. It's been on my mind since the topic of Chicago first came up.

She looks over at me, her big hazel eyes clearly surprised. "It was your dream; I figured you wanted to go."

"And that I wanted you with me?" It comes out harsher than I expected, but B doesn't flinch.

"Don't you?" She challenges me.

I shrug, not willing to admit that I do.

"Look," Buffy says, clearly annoyed, "I've lost almost everyone and everything that matters to me. I'm not losing you too. It's not an option."

I goggle at her.

"So, you're stuck with me. Better luck next apocalypse."

I fall back on sarcasm like I always do when caught off guard. I perk a brow. "Getting mushy on me, B?"

"That's me," she says brightly. "Mushy Buffy."

I smile. She looks so beautiful when she's being silly. It makes me want to lean over and kiss her.

As if reading my mind, she closes the distance between us and presses her lips to mine. Taking advantage of my surprise, Buffy melts into my arms, her warm, strong body pressed against me.

"What are we doing?" I manage to ask, when she let me take a breath.

"Does it matter?"

It does, if she's just going to do what she did last time. I can't let her keep pulling me in and then pushing me away. "No," I lie, and kiss her again. We're about to go on what's probably a suicide mission, so I might as well spend my last day where I want to be.

I lick my way across her throat. I nibble her earlobe a little and her hips rock forward. She tugs at my hair, pressing my mouth to her neck.

I'm trying to ignore the questions I have, but my brain wins out over libido. I pull free from her, sitting up.

Buffy looks up at me from the bed, blonde hair pooled around her head. I feel like an idiot for putting on the brakes.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

I've never been one to talk about my feelings, but it's the end of the end of the world. Who knows how long we've got? Might as well be honest. "I can't do hot and cold with you like this, B. We're gonna be out on the road together. Got no idea what we're heading into. I gotta have my head on straight."

Buffy nods, looking like she understands. "I'm not trying to be hot and cold."

"Yeah, I know." I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to feel more in control. "All the same, we should probably stop doing this."

Buffy considers for a moment. "What if it's hot and hot?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm not going to freak out after."

I can't help but feel suspicious. Life doesn't just hand you whatever you want on a silver platter. There's usually a catch. I want so badly to believe her, but I don't know how to do that. "What's changed since last time?"

"Nothing, I guess."

Well, that's a ringing endorsement.

Buffy's quiet for a while, thinking. Then she says, "All this destruction, all these people gone, and we're still here." She looks at me. "The Chosen Two, together again, watching it burn down. Maybe that means something."

"What, like fate?"

"Something like that," she answers.

I have no idea how this relates to our earlier conversation at all.

Buffy sits up, looking at me. "There's something between us. Maybe there always has been, and I didn't want to see it." Her hands twist in her lap but she keeps her eyes on mine. "I don't want to waste any more time denying what I want."

"You mean me," I say, hoping my voice sounds less shaky to her than it does me.

"You," she agrees.

We look at each other in silence for a minute. My heart is racing and I'm sure she can hear it. I don't even know what to say.

She clears her throat. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," I manage to croak. I look like an idiot.

"Good," she says with a soft smile.

When I reach for her, she comes happily. I don't kiss her, just crush her against my chest. Her arms wind around my waist and she squeezes back. I've never felt anything so good in my life. I don't know what day it is, but I'm pretty sure it ain't Christmas. Sure feels like it though.

XXXXX

It takes some time to pack up everything useful from the Hyperion. The school bus has ample space, so we load almost all the food and water into the back, as well as extra fuel, Angel's weapons stockpile, and clothing for everyone going. Angel and Wesley lingered over his book collection before finally packing as many of them as could fit in the back row of the bus. We're not naïve enough to think this is the last apocalypse to come our way. With man's numbers dwindling, and the demon population lying low, there will be plenty of opportunities later for evil to rear its ugly head. The books have to go.

Buffy and I won't be going with them. No sense in waiting to leave for Chicago. We're all living on borrowed time now, and that includes Jacob's wife. We've got to go get her while she's still among the living. Our stuff is packed in a duffel bag and carefully strapped to the back of the sport bike one of Gunn's boys left behind. We're not taking much, hoping to salvage stuff on the road. The group needs most of the food anyway.

As I finish checking the bike, I see Angel approaching me from across the garage. He presses a vial of Mohra blood into my hand.

"Immune, remember?" I try to hand it back.

"You're immune from infection but you can still get seriously hurt." He glances at Buffy, who's hugging Tara tightly. "So can she."

Point taken. I stuff the vial into our bag.

"Be careful," Angel advises, lingering beside me like he wants to say more.

"Yeah," I nod. "You, too."

Wesley joins us, and he holds out a small backpack. Kim's pack.

"What's this?" I ask, even though I know.

He looks at the bag in his hand sadly. "Some of her things. I thought… well, she would want you to have them."

Gingerly, I accept the bag. "Thanks."

"Sure," he shrugs. "You take care."

"You too," I tell him, meaning it sincerely. We hug awkwardly before pulling apart. I can see Wesley wiping his eyes discreetly.

Tara comes to me next, holding out a small fabric bag. "What's this?" I ask, taking it from her.

"Something I cooked up in case of emergency," she says vaguely. "If you get in real trouble, open it."

Some sort of hocus pocus then. "Okay," I agree, adding it to our supplies. "Thanks, Tara."

She steps forward to hug me, her soft form leaning against mine. "You be careful," she orders sternly.

"If you're that worried," I joke, "where's my protection spell?"

Tara gives me a sly grin. "You've had one since the day you showed up at our camp."

"Then how come she keeps almost dying?" Buffy asks skeptically, appearing next to us.

"Hey," the witch answers, "I can only do so much. Faith likes to get herself in trouble."

I scowl at the two of them, and Buffy smiles at me winningly. "She sure does." This is accompanied by a patronizing pat on the butt that Tara doesn't see. B turns to Tara, giving her a farewell hug.

The rest of the group is crowding around us now, and Buffy steps back to my side, looking at the bike. "We all set?"

"I think so." I zip the bag again, confident that our friends are done giving us stuff to take.

"Remember," Angel says, as I climb on the front of the bike. "Four weeks, we'll meet here."

"We'll be here," Buffy promises. She flicks her eyes to Jacob. "And we'll have your wife."

He nods gratefully.

Buffy takes a moment to look at Spike specifically. "If I find out you ate my dog, I'll stake you."

The vamp rolls his eyes. "Fine, I'll eat one of them." He waves his hand toward the group.

"Good," Buffy says agreeably, before climbing on the seat behind me. Her arms wind around my waist.

I fire up the engine. Everyone steps back, and I slowly ease us toward the garage exit. Pulling out to the curb, I see lurching zombies on both sides.

Behind me, Buffy tightens her arms and asks, "You _do_ have a license to drive one of these, right?"

"Nope," I say, deciding to turn right. That way looks a little clearer. I glance in the mirror a final time to see our friends waving, and I lift my hand in farewell.

"Faith!" Buffy cries in indignation, "you didn't tell me that!"

Giving the bike a lot of gas, I make a very sharp turn into the street. Buffy squeals. In a moment, the Hyperion and all its ghosts will be behind us. "Hold on tight, B," I tell her. "It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

XXXXX

And that's it. There is a tentative sequel to write, but I'm working on something else first. If you check back next Friday, I'll have a little Omega-verse one shot for you. Sort of an untold story. :) Thank you all for taking this ride with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. :)


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